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B T. M; A. XJ R. 




WOOING. 



n'! 



**St. Maur; an Earl's Wooing" is a very peculiar vaork of fiction, with the 
scene in England, though some American characters, drawn without exaggeration, 
figure in it. It is decidedly sensational, with a well-constructed story, which might 
be regarded as too highly wrought, were it not that every mystery is set even at the 
close. The various action takes place in high, middle, and what may be called low 
life — though it does not go so far into the depths of the latter as f Oliver Taoist.” One 
of the best characters, of whom too much is not made, is a clever Detective. Most of the 
scenes are worked out with great effect ; and the destruction of a great country man- 
sion, by fire, in England, in which the heroine and hero are saved by the devoted self- 
sacrifice of Trevellyan, the EarPs tried and true friend, is most powerfully written, 
and the death scene of the tatter is a wonderful bit of tender pathos. There is an 
exquisite little poem in it, the story has numerous good points, and is nicely told, the 
author is well acquainted with London society, and in all respects this romance of 
the present time will be found highly original . — Critic. 




PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSOK & BROTHERS; 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 

•-7 Wl 



% 





copyright; 

07. B. BETEBSOTT <5c EE/OTHEBS, 

1879. 




CONTENTS. 



Chapter Page 

I. LONEDREAR HOUSE 21 

II. THE innkeeper’s STORY 82 

III. THE ACCIDENT 44 

IV. AUDREY TREVELLYAN, THE GUARDSMAN . . 60 

V. SIR JOHN CARLETON 69 

VI. BESSIE EGERTON 85 

Vn. THE AUCTIONEER 92 

vm. THE PAWNBROKER 100 

IX. THEOPHILUS SQUINT, ATTORNEY 118 

X. RICHARD’S DISCOMFITURE 125 

XI. A DREAJVI 131 

XII. THE GUARDSMAN CAPTIVATED. . 143 

Xm. AT THE OPERA ' 150 

XIV. THE SEASON 160 

XV. THE MISSIVE 164 

XVI. TRICKED 173 

XVII. MADAME CARLETON 183 

XVIII. LITTLE fan’s ADVENTURE 190 

XIX. THE RIDE 198 

XX. PREPARATIONS 226 

(19) 


20 CONTENTS. 

Chapter Page 

XXI. THE FIRE 231 

XXII. LITTLE fan’s CAPTURE 246 

XXIII. THE AGENT — TEMPTATION 252 

XXIV. DEATH 268 

XXY. LITTLE FAN’s WANDERINGS 282 

XXVI. FOLLOWED — DISCOVERED 297 

XXVII. PARRICIDE 319 

XXVIII. REST 330 

XXIX. LIGHT 337 

XXX. CONCLUSION 347 


ST. M A U E 


AN EARL’S WOOING. 


CHAPTER L 


LONEDREAR HOUSE. 


HE little town, or village, of Wentworth lies cosity 



I nestled in one of those peaceful vales — more 
properly speaking, lovely, sequestered valleys of Der- 
byshire. 

The ever busy foundry, the ceaseless whirr of factory 
wheels, even the shrill whistle of the iron horse, are, or 
were, things, at the date of our story, almost unknown 
to its inhabitants — a quiet, unpretentious people, con- 
cerned only about their own and neighbors’ welfare — 
as much the latter as the first. It is true. Science and 
Progress were making rapid strides — unknown to their 
progenitors and executioners — for the annihilation of 
these blissful possessions, yet Wentworth was satisfied — 


( 21 ) 


22 ST. maur; ok, an earl’s wooing. 

more than satisfied, so said its Innkeeper — with its 
distance of seven miles to the new railway station. 

On the public road leading from the station there 
stood an old-fashioned, deserted brick mansion, sur- 
rounded by a high stone wall and garden of wild 
shrubbery. All things about the place bore evidence of 
disuse, neglect and decay. The shutters of the lower 
stories were still closed and securely fastened, as they 
had been left years before ; but above, where the wind 
and storm had freer scope, some were barely hanging, 
whilst others had fallen helplessly to the ground, and 
were rotting and mouldering away. 

Flowers and shrubs, at one time carefully planted, 
had, from year to year, silently dropped their seeds into 
the earth, and, uncultured and uncared for, had brought 
forth, some their ten, others their hundred fold, until 
the enclosure, save in places where the thick grass and 
coarser weeds choked the way, was covered with their 
many kinds. The higher parts of the stone wall had 
crumbled and fallen, whilst the once strong iron rods 
of the entrance gates were but thick layers of rust. 
Above the briars, which twined and interlaced them, 
could be seen the marble steps, stained and blackened 
by the damp of years. 

Mafiy were the speculations of passers-by as they 
looked upon this picture of modern ruin, and many the 
questions asked at the neighboring tavern, as to whom 
it belonged, or something of its history. 

To the first of these queries few or none could 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


23 


give a satisfactory answer, but to the last, in quite a 
mysterious manner, would be said : 

“ It is a strange tale, sir, and would, perhaps, take 
too long to listen to.” 

If the interrogatory were persisted in, and especially 
if the traveller decided to sup and spend the night at 
the “ Great George Inn,” which stood upon the principal 
street of Wentworth, Thomas Spiggott, the proprietor 
of that public, would say : 

“ If it please you, sir, after you are well rested and 
refreshed, I will relate it to you, as I indistinctly 
remember myself, and as I have oftentime heard it 
from my father — God rest his soul — these twenty 
years and more ago. He kept this same place before 
me, and, it may be, in a better manner, though ’tis not 
I that can say it, for between here and London, I don’t 
believe there ’s a better inn, nor better kept, and it is 
the people only, sir, who are to blame for not finding it 
out. However, I wdll repeat the tale to you as I have 
heard him tell it a score of times.” 

Thomas Spiggott’s form, figure and mind were 
those of a model innkeeper. Large in rotundity; of a 
slip-shod, shuffling gait ; somewhat superstitious in dis- 
position, and yet, withal, kind-hearted. During former 
periods the tavern had paid well, but times had changed. 
Few people travelled by chaise now-a-days, and the 
small number of visitors that chanced that way would 
scarcely more than keep body and soul together. 

Upon such an occasion as mentioned, it being a 


24 ST. maur; or^ an earl’s wooing. 

raw, gusty evening toward the latter part of Novem- 
ber, the old-fashioned stage, or lumbering vehicle 
employed to convey passengers from the distant railway 
to Wentworth and the towns further inland, drew up in 
front of the ‘‘Great George.” The coach was wet — 
thoroughly wet — whilst the wheels and steaming, 
panting horses were well spattered with mud. 

The driver threw his reins loosely down, the hostlers 
made their appearance with the fresh change of horses, 
while Thomas Spiggott, with white apron and extended 
hand, held the door, ready to assist such as might 
require it in their descent. Only one passenger 
alighted. 

“ Is this the Great George Inn ? ” he said, in a voice 
slightly tinged with melancholy, apparently uncalled 
for in consonance with the surroundings, and, instead of 
rushing in for warmth and shelter, stood in the drizzling 
atmosphere, casting his eyes over the ancient structure, 
with its pointed gables, tall chimneys and many-paned 
windows. 

“Yes, sir, this is the Great George,” replied Spiggott, 
“ and I its landlord, ever ready to welcome and loth 
to speed the parting guest,” for sometimes he would 
have his little joke ; “ but walk in, sir, walk in. May I 
take your luggage ? ” 

The new arrival looked at the speaker intently 
for a moment, then, handing him a travelling bag ho 
carried, followed him into the sitting-room or bar, on 
one side of which stood a neat little counter, with 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


25 


shelves behind. Upon these were arranged in selected 
order a number of half and wholly-filled decanters, 
their contents shining out a hospitable invitation and 
welcome. 

In a great wide chimney, on the other side, blazed a 
bright fire of faggots and logs. Around this loitered 
several of the towns-people — the tavern’s favorite cus- 
tomers — some with short pipes in their mouths, others 
with steaming glasses beside them, and all discussing 
the foibles and virtues of their absent fellows. They 
respectfully made way for the new comer, leaving him 
a seat in front of the hearth. 

The stranger bowed courteously, and, unfastening 
and laying aside his wrappings, approached the fire, 
resting one foot upon the iron dogs, carelessly throwing 
his arm over the high mantel, and in this attitude gazed 
listlessly into the coals, as if lost to the surroundings in 
meditation. His age might have been thirty, his figure 
tall and angular, hair black and curling, with dark 
complexion, and a face that bore traces of either recent 
sorrow or suffering. 

Turning from his reverie, he fell into light conversa- 
tion with those around, of the village, its surroundings, 
and of the dreary-looking house passed by the wayside, 
to which last, he received the stereotyped reply, as has 
been stated. 

There had been kept from time immemorial a book 
upon the counter, for the placing therein of travellers’ 
names. Though soiled and worn by age upon the 


26 ST. mauk; oe, an eael’s wooing. 


outside, its unused pages, with the exception of being 
turned at the edges, were comparatively spotless. 
Thrice had it been bound within the present owner’s 
recollection — once by his father, secondly by himself, 
and, lastly, Nicholas Toner, the saddler, had placed a 
stout leather cover upon it. Though not accomplished 
in an artistic or even neat manner, it answered the 
purpose, for surely, it w'ould never require repairing. 

It had not been worn by the frequency of signs 
manual being inscribed, but for the reason it contained 
all the names of guests the Inn had entertained for half 
a century. New arrivals would, from curiosity, or per- 
haps to occupy an idle moment, glance back and con 
over the peculiar chirography of those by-gone days. 

When the traveller had become thoroughly warmed 
he sauntered to this book, and being handed pen and 
ink, in small and almost illegible characters placed 
his name therein ; after which, loosely running over the 
preceding pages, and then becoming more interested, 
continued back, seeking for a date some thirty years 
previous. At last he seemed satisfied, for after gazing 
eagerly and for some time at a certain page, closed 
the book, and supper being announced, walked ner- 
vously away. 

As soon as the door had closed upon his retreating 
figure, those good citizens of Wentworth then and 
there assembled, gathered around that ancient volume, 
and read the last written name, or what to them seemed 
peculiar hieroglyphics, and many were the remarks, 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 27 

encomiums and speculations in regard to the late 
arrival. 

Spiggott was not an adept in the intricacies of chi- 
rography, nor were any of those present; so, after each 
had closely scrutinized and criticised the signature, and 
its difference from others, they decided to wait for 
Timothy Tasker — whole sexton and half clerk of the 
village church — to solve the problem, it being within 
a few minutes of his regular attendance ; or for Dolly, 
the landlord’s pretty daughter. This last, when occa- 
sion required, being not onl}^ her father’s receiving 
and dispatching amanuensis, but also his mainstay in 
in the business. At the present moment she was wait- 
ing upon and entertaining their guest with the latest 
provincial news. 

“ Here he comes at last,” said Nicholas Toner, the 
saddler, as the part clerk and sexton opened the door, 
discovering a little sharp-featured man with a halting 
gait, and enveloped in a great cloak hanging down to 
his heels. 

“ Whom do you mean has come, Mr. Nicholas Toner? 
Is it anything unusual in me to come here of the even- 
ing, and at this particular time, that should cause you 
to remark the occurrence, or is it to some one else you 
allude?” said the little man, in a sharp, small, shrill 
voice, as he shook the rain from off his cloak and hung 
it in its accustomed place. 

Oh no, no,” rejoined the saddler, somewhat crest- 
fallen ; “we were wishing you would come to read us 


28 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

the name that has just been signed upon the guests’ 
book, you know you are so learned. We might have 
made it out ourselves, but that it is written poorly.” 

“ Written poorly? When did you become a critic in 
the school of chirography, that you should know the 
good from the bad,” said Tasker, snappishly ; “ Mr. 
Spiggott, I grant you, might decide upon such ques- 
tions with the utmost satisfaction to the community, 
and myself; but as to you, sir, I would advise — as the 
shoemaker to the last — ‘stick to your tree.’” 

The sexton was the learned and consequently tyran- 
nical individual of that set, and lorded it over the 
others with the exception of the host, for whom he 
had a lively respect, not only for occasional small 
credit, but for a concealed admiration of pretty Dolly. 
His companions had a much more exalted idea of his 
attainments than he actually deserved; for, when he 
was wrong, which was frequently the case, there were 
none to contradict. 

“ Good evening, Mr. Spiggott,” he resumed, catching 
that person’s eye over the bar ; “ our worthy saddler 
informs me that you have a new arrival. Shall I read 
the name ? O, yes ; I know it is not from any want of 
knowledge upon your part, but perhaps your eyesight 
is failing of an evening after candlelight ? So, let me 
see,” and he adjusted the lights, putting a pair of spec- 
tacles and a pinch of snuff each in their separate 
proper place. 

“ My eyesight is not failing, friend Timothy, I can 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


29 


see the faults of others as well as my own,” said the 
landlord, who acted as a break upon the other’s sharp- 
ness ; “ but come, let ’s have the name, and I will mix 
you a punch, hot and strong, and won’t score it against 
you. If my Dolly were not busy we should have had 
it long ago. Why, man alive ! I do believe you are 
puzzled yourself I ” 

“ Wait a bit ! Let me see ! This is most peculiar,” 
cried the sexton, “ the man can’t write his own name. 
Ah ! I have it now ! this is it, B, — B ; no, it’s not a B. 
R, yes, R ; I declare it more resembles a B than an R. 
R-u-p-u-s. Whoever heard of Rupus for a Christian 
name ? ” said he, glancing round. 

“ Rufus,” suggested the saddler. 

“ Rufus, to be sure,” they all chimed in. 

The sexton looked slowly round until he encountered 
the humble form of Mr. Toner ; looking daggers at him 
he turned slowly back to Spiggott, and then to the 
page, remarking in a shrill laugh — 

“ Yes, Rufus to be sure. I think you said Rufus, 
Mr. Spiggott. I have always found you very correct,” 
then proceeding, “ A-f-f-l-e-g-a-r-t-h. Yes, that’s it, 
Rufus Afflegarth.” 

The saddler, very meekly : “ Maybe it is Applegarth ? 
I cannot read writing well, and would only make the 
suggestion.” 

“ Maybe it is,” said Spiggott. 

“ Maybe it is,” said they all ; “ but here comes Dolly, 
she can tell.” 


30 ST. maur; or, an earl's wooing. 

At the word, in tripped a pretty brunette, with neat, 
X^liimp little figure, who ran up to her father, saying : 

“ The gentleman is through his supper, and I have 
shown him into the parlor, as he preferred it instead of 
here. He says he would be pleased if you will come 
and tell him the story you promised. What can I do 
for you ? ” she added, seeing the expectant faces. 

“We wanted you to read his signature,” said her 
father, “ for it seems to be but poorly spelled.” 

“He told it to me. He said it was Applegarth — 
Mr. Rufus Applegarth.” 

“ I hope you did not ask him, Dolly ? ” 

“No, indeed! He questioned me about Lonedrear 
House, and I told him a Mr. Kirby lived there a long, 
long while ago. Then he asked about Sir John, and 
the names of people about here, and what my own is ; 
then he told me his; said he had come all the way from 
America. He appears to be a thorough gentleman.” 

During this colloquy. Tasker had been busily engaged 
in studying the writing. He now broke out in the 
same shrill tone : 

“Didn’t I say ‘Applegarth?’ or was it you^ Mr. 
Spiggott, who suggested it? Yes, I know it was you, 
you are so very correct. Ah, how do you do. Miss 
Dolly? dear me, you are looking so well, and I sup- 
pose whilst your father is entertaining the gentleman, 
you will stay and,” looking at the host rather depre- 
catingly,. though, intended as a reminder “ muddle me 
a small glass of punch, which your worthy father has 


ST. maur; or, earl’s wooing. 


31 


promised, of quite a high temperature and correspond- 
ingly strengthening ? ” 

“As my father pleases.” 

“ But you don’t deserve it,” said Larkins the gun- 
smith, breaking in, rather brave in the presence of 
Dolly. 

“Don’t deserve it,” shrieked the little man, “and 
didn’t I read the name ? ” 

“ No,” said Jerry Hardin, the self-appointed carrier 
of letters and packages through the neighborhood, and 
by no means averse to the charms of the damsel. 

“ Who did then ? ” cried the clerk, almost beside 
himself with rage. 

“ Why, Nicholas Toner helped, and Dolly told you.” 

“Ah! Miss Dolly! that might be; but Nicholas 
Toner help me ! any of you help to teach me ! ” and 
he blew a breath from between his lips as though he 
would have puffed them all out like the flame of a 
candle. 

“ Tut, tut, man, take your glass ; Dolly is brewing it. 
And, my daughter, remember — only two glasses — for 
as my name is Thomas Spiggott, I will have no drunk- 
enness in my house.” 

Thus saying, he strode out of the room, feeling sat- 
isfied that his injunction would be obeyed, whilst the 
rest, remaining, discussed the new arrival and the same 
topics of yesternight, and departed in the usual manner 
at the usual time. Tasker, as usual, receiving no more 
nor less encouragement from the fair Dolly. 


32 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE innkeeper’s STORY. 

A S Spiggott entered the room in which the guest 
was seated, before a fire of bright coals, he was 
accosted with — 

“Well, my good host, I am waiting patiently,” — but 
his manner betrayed impatience — “for the story you 
promised.” 

“ Sir, I am ready,” replied the other, “ but as the 
tale is long, and none of the brightest, would it not be 
better to have something to cheer the time ? ” 

This was said not only with an eye to business, but 
upon such times as the recital was necessary, a re- 
inforcement of spirits was required. 

“ By all means ! let us have some mulled ale, as I 
have drank it in London.” 

“ Mulled ale let it be, sir, and of the best,” said the 
landlord, as he departed with alacrity, and presently 
returned bearing a pitcher of that excellent commodity, 
smoking hot, placing it among the embers. “ I have 
warmed it myself, sir, and you will find it exactly suita- 
ble to the atmosphere without. How it does blow. I 
pity those without shelter this night;” and he poured 
two steaming mugsful from the vessel, taking a hearty 
draught. 


ST. MAIIK* OR, AN EARL's WOOING. 


33 


“ You say right, landlord ; it is a fearful night. The 
storm was bad enough as I came along, but it seems to 
have increased. Hark ! Is not that some one I hear 
rapping at the window, or is it the blast ? ” 

“ I hear it, sir,” returned the other. “ God bless 
me ! ” slapping his hand with a loud smack upon 
his knee, “ but this is the very night upon which my 
tale begins. Ay, sir, I hear; it is the blast, and then 
again it is not the blast, that same which I have heard 
this many a year upon this same night, the rattling of 
the panes as though some one knocked without, and the 
low moan of the wind whistling by. This is the night, 
and upon its recurrence each year the same sad notes 
and wailing sounds are heard, when the foul fiend him- 
self must walk abroad, for never were such deeds in 
Wentworth except upon this anniversary. Once it 
was Robert Tucker, whose wife brought forth twins, 
and before morning both were dead ; and then Timothy 
Tasker, who dug, in Wentworth churchyard, three' 
graves in the same day; and — and next,” his voice 
shook a little, “ it v/as my own Rosa, my own child, 
who left me for — for — the worst that child can come 
to ; but,” and his face brightened, “ I have Dolly left, 
and she will keep her father’s side, hap’ what may.” 

“ I am sorry for you, landlord, I can feel for one who 
loses a child in that hard way, but we all have our sor- 
rows, each knoweth his own best. Hark, again, surely 
that is some one who, seeing the light and cheerful fire 
within, pleads for hospitality. I will open the window 
2 - 


34 ST. maur; or^ an earl’s wooing. 

and see.” He suited the action to the word, but only 
the wind and rain dashed in his face, and he quickly 
closed it again. 

“ It is nothing but the storm,” and reseating himself 
said; “Now, tell me of the occurrences of which 
you speak. Tell them as you heard and know them,” 
and he shaded his face from the light, his brow bent 
deep in his hand. 

“ Well, sir, it was thirty years ago this very night, as 
I have said, perhaps before you were born” — and he 
glanced questioningly attheface under the shadow, but 
with no response — “that in just such a storm as this, 
only the wind blew stronger and fiercer — for the sign 
of the Great George was torn down, and that has never 
occurred since — there dashed up to the door a hard 
driven post-chaise, from which alighted a gentleman 
and lady. She was of rare beauty, whilst he had a 
dark, forbidding countenance, with a strong cast of 
Jewish features. He demanded the best room, and 
was profuse in orders. 

“ It was easy to detect the condition of the poor lady. 
She was past that time when concealment was of use. 
They supped in their chamber, and it was my mother 
who waited upon them from the first, for her sympa- 
thies were strongly enlisted. After having duly 
attended them, and being satisfied nothing more was 
required, she, with my father, made preparations for 
retiring. They had scarcely commenced when they 
were alarmed by loud voices from the strangers’ room. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


35 


My mother hastily repaired thither, my father following 
close. She rapped, and was admitted, but saw nothing 
extraordinary, save that the lady had a handkerchief 
to her eyes and seemed much agitated. The gentleman 
appeared unconcerned. A large flask and tumbler 
were upon the table, and the room smelled strongly of 
brandy, but when to her inquiries she was told ‘ nothing 
was wanted,’ my mother again withdrew; but after con- 
sulting with my father, they determined to remain up, 
for such things were not in the usual manner of hap- 
pening in their house. So my mother stationed herself 
within call. My father, somewhat alarmed, and deter- 
mined to be ready, in case of necessity, drew a chair 
before the fire, deciding to rest in ' that manner, first 
taking the precaution to leave open all the doors lead- 
ing to that portion of the house in which were the 
travellers. 

“At that time there lived in the house you have 
observed by the wayside, a gentleman by the name of 
Kirby. He had bought the place some years previously. 
It had long been unoccupied then. Few ever saw and 
none knew him, except Sir John Carleton, who fre- 
quently went there, though his visits were never 
returned. He is thought to have known much more 
of Mr. Kirby than he ever divulged. 

“Sir John has lived much abroad since then, but is 
now at his seat, Carleton Park, just outside the village, 
and, I am told, intends to remain. As soon after his 
purchase as the grounds could be put in order, and the 


36 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

house arranged, Mr. Kirby came down, and none ever 
saw him outside the walls again, though when I was a 
boy I have been on the high bluffs to the westward, and 
seen him pacing the flagged walk on that side, up and 
down, the same even gait, without rest, until I became 
tired of looking, and turned away. I have been there 
since, and have seen where his constant march had 
worn a depression the whole length of the flags. He 
lived most economically, keeping but two servants, one 
of whom came regularly to the market then held here, 
and bought sparingly, but never was his master known 
to have a bill sent in. Some said he was rich, others 
that he was reduced, whilst some contended he was 
hoarding up untold wealth. I know not how true 
these may have been, but certain no one in distress 
ever came from his door empty-handed. 

“Well, sir, as I was saying, my father determined to 
be on the alert, but the warmth of the fire, and it may 
be a mug or two of ale with which he comforted him- 
self, tended to make him drowsy, and at last fall into a 
doze. From this he was suddenl}?- awakened by screams 
and piercing shrieks emanating from the guests’ cham- 
ber. Thoroughly aroused, he ran hastily to the door, 
where he found my mother had preceded him, and 
demanded admittance. By this time the cries had 
ceased, and were succeeded by a succession of low 
moans. The door being fastened, and receiving no 
reply, my father placed his shoulder against and burst 
it open. On the bed lay the poor lady, unconscious, 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 37 


her face livid and throat bruised and swollen, showing 
the black marks of finger prints, whilst on the table 
was an empty flask. 

“The man, though unsteady from the effects of 
liquor, advanced with uplifted arm, every feature 
bearing a look of baffled rage. My father, who was a 
powerful man, caught him in his strong hands and 
pushed him down into a seat, when he told him if he 
moved but a muscle he would break every bone in his 
body. 

“ In the meantime my mother, with the help of the 
maids, who had flocked to the scene, tried to resuscitate 
the lady, and seeing that a certain event was about to 
take place, dispatched a messenger for a physician, 
whilst the gentleman, stupefied from drink, was taken 
to another portion of the house and placed under the 
watch of one of the stable men. 

“ It was not a great while before the lady returned 
to consciousness. My mother tried to soothe and ease 
her pains, but in a low, plaintive voice she only asked, 
‘ where is my father ? send for my father.’ This rather 
bewildered my mother, for she knew the folks hereabout, 
high and low, and was puzzled to know what to do, 
and thought the poor thing’s mind was wandering ; but 
wlien she repeatedly made the same request, she 
thought there must be something in it, so in a quiet 
moment softly said, ‘ where does he live ? what is his 
name?’ The almost inaudible answer came back, 
‘Philip Kirby, Lonedrear House.’ You may imagine 
my mother’s astonishment. 


38 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ It was now past midnight, but a gig was sent for 
the purpose. 

“ Mean time the doctor came, and with his assistance 
the lady gave birth, prematurely, to a boy, just after 
which Mr. Kirby made his appearance in the chamber. 
His features were pale, but, quickly approaching the 
bedside, he looked down upon the white face, and 
bending his head over it, his eyes filled with tears as 
he whispered, ‘ My daughter ! ’ Immediately her eyes 
opened, bright with expectation, and clasping her arms 
tightly around his neck, she drew him down and kissed 
him repeatedly, saying, ‘My father; my dear father! 
I have so longed to see you once before I died, and 
God has answered my prayer ! ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, my child I my child I ’ he said, ‘ do not speak 
of death ; there is hope yet ! ’ 

“ ‘ No, no, father, I feel it on me now. I would I 
could say more, after all these years of separation, and 
oh, you loved me so well, and have so much to forgive. 
My baby, my own child, which I have just seen, which 
I have prayed for and longed for during my unhappy 
life, promise that you will take it. This is my last, my 
only request. You cannot, you will not refuse I ’ 

“ ‘ My child, was there aught I ever refused you, 
except the choice of your unhappy marriage? Rest 
content, but live yourself; live for your own precious 
charge, and so long as you are under my roof, I will 
protect you against the world I ’ 

“ ‘ Too late I too late ! I can see it all now. Too 
late ! too late ! ’ 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


39 


‘‘Mr. Kirby turned from the bed; the physician 
gently led him away. It was indeed too late, for with 
those words she had expired. 

“ As the twain entered the long passage, it was now 
near morning. They met the husband, who had slept 
off the effects of drink, but whose countenance still 
bore a hellish expression, and having overcome the 
hostler was wandering back. 

“ When Mr. Kirby first saw him, he shrank back as 
though from a serpent, pushing off his presence. 

“‘Ah, you recognize me?’ said the brute. ‘I am 
glad of that, for you know what I want — money — 
which you have in heaps, and which I want so much. 
Why did you not send us money ? why did you compel 
us, from our very necessities, to come here ? Gold ! 
gold ! man, is what I want, and gold I will have — I 
will have ! Do you hear ? ’ 

“ Mr. Kirby’s nerves seemed to strengthen palpably, 
as he replied : 

“‘Mathew Mather ton — liar, scoundrel, gambler that 
you have always been, w’orse than all you are now — 
the murderer of my child, my poor child ! ’ Here h^ 
broke down. 

“ In a moment there were a dozen pairs of strong 
hands upon him, for the people in the town h^d heard 
of the night’s proceedings, and gathered in and around 
the house — some from curiosity, some from sympathy. 
Sir John Carleton, for whom Mr. Kirby had sent when 
first apprised of his daughter’s whereabouts, arriving at 


40 


ST. MAUR; ORj an earl’s wooing. 

this timely moment, after hearing the statements of 
those around, being a magistrate, committed the hus- 
band to prison. 

“ The culprit was at first shocked upon hearing of his 
wife’s death, for he had not realized it was so bad ; but 
after that momentary feeling, a stolid indiiferencB took 
possession of him, which he maintained through all his 
trouble. 

“ That, sir, is the history of that fatal night. I was 
but nine or ten years old, but have an indistinct recol- 
lection of the men who came upon the coroner’s jury, 
and how the lady was taken to London to be buried. 
From that time, thirty years ago, Lonedrear House has 
never been occupied. 

“Mr. Kirby left with the child, his own servant — a 
respectable looking one she was — taking charge of it, 
and with, perhaps, the exception of Sir John, no one in 
Wentworth has ever heard more of them since. 

“ The old gentleman thanked my father and mother 
in his quiet, gentle way for their trouble, and after- 
wards sent a handsome present, which would have 
more than ten times rewarded them. 

“ The trial of Mathew Matherton is remembered by 
many people in this count}". Mr. Kirby would have 
proved a most important witness, but his attendance 
could not be procured, as he liad left the country ; but, 
even in the absence of such evidence, the prisoner was 
convicted, though, by some technicality, sentenced only 
to transportation, froni which it was said he afterwards 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


41 


escaped. Of this I heard no more than the idle rumor. 
After his receiving judgment, the crowd so yelled and 
hooted and tried to get hold of him, that it required a 
sheriffs guard to see him safely back to Derby jail. 

“ This, sir, is all that I know, and my story has got 
through just as we have reached (^he had reached, 
would have been better) the last mug of ale. We 
will drink this, and then I must say good night — for 
the hour is late — and if you will allow me, show you to 
your room.” 

And the Innkeeper turned his eyes from the bottom 
of the tankard to the stranger opposite, who, his brow 
still buried in his hand, seemed lost in a far away 
reverie. Presently, he arose mechanically and signified 
his readiness to follow. 

The landlord led the way up a winding flight of 
stairs, and, turning suddenly to the right, ushered him 
into a large room, in a corner of which stood a high 
bedstead, while opposite was a great oaken press. 
Chairs and a table stood in the centre, and further 
across, a casement opening upon a hanging balcony. 

The guest paused. “ Is this your best room ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, and you will find it very comfortable. I’ll 
be bound you’ll sleep well in that bed,” giving it a push, 
to show its softness. 

“Is this the — the room in which — the room of 
which you were speaking?” 

“Yes,” said the other, hesitatingly. “’Tis the best 
in the house. But, if you do not fancy it, another can 
be prepared in a few minutes.” 


42 ST. maur; or^ an earl’s wooing. 

The guest looked around — at the ceiling, the furni- 
ture, the closed casement. A shudder seemed to pass 
over his whole frame. 

“I would prefer to sleep in the room below — that 
we have just left. The fire burns brightly there, and 
the sofa is a good enough bed. I’ve often had worse,” 
and he commenced retracing his steps. 

Thomas Spiggott protested against such discomfort, 
but said, if it pleased his guest, he “ was satisfied,” 
and, after re-conducting him back, replenished the 
grate with fuel and turned to see if anything more 
was needed. 

At this moment, a louder, harsher blast than had yet 
blown struck the house, and, penetrating each crevice 
and cranney, seemed to shake the building to its foun- 
dation, rattling the doors and windows as though they 
were playthings in the hands of a mighty giant. 

The casement of the room in which the two men 
were was blown violently back, and in the aperture 
they distinctly saw the head of an old man, his long 
white hair and beard clinging around his shoulders, 
wet from the storm — a diabolical expression upon 
his countenance — but as suddenly as it appeared it 
vanished. 

Spiggott covered his face with his hands, whilst the 
other rushed forward, but, as before, was met only by 
the wind and the rain. He peered out into the deep 
darkness, but nothing could be discerned, and, grasp- 
ing the arm of the Innkeeper, cried, “ Come, let us go 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 43 

out; let us examine.” This they did, but, although 
searching up and down and in every conceivable direc- 
tion in which a person could have gone, naught did 
they discover. 

After securing the doors and seeing everything fast, 
both retired their separate ways — Spiggott to bed, 
muttering about ghosts and devils, whilst the other to 
muse and brood over sad, unpleasant thoughts; and 
the gray light had appeared before he lay down to rest. 


44 


ST. MAUR; or, an earl’s WOOING. 


CHAPTER IIL 


THE accident 


N the morrow, the sun shone forth in all its 



u splendor, bathing the earth in one vast sea of 
light. Toward morning the sky had cleared, the wind 
ceased, and a half hour’s freezing hardened the crust of 
the earth’s surface, upon which rested the white, hoar 
frost, now being fast dispelled. 

The traveller arose, and, after making a hasty toilet 
and breakfasting, with Dolly again as his attendant, 
sallied forth to the front of the house, where the land- 
lord was discussing the incidents and effects of last 
night’s storm with the towns-people. Rufus Applegarth, 
for such he had written his name, bade him good morn- 
ing and inquired “ how he had rested ? ” 

“ It was a strange night, sir, a strange night,” Spig- 
gott replied. “ I slept but ill. And they tell me that 
lights were seen in Lonedrear House last night. God 
only knows what it means. I have questioned if any 
one has seen a strange man about, but it seems not. I 
know not what all this portends, but it will have some 
fearful ending, depend upon it.” 

The stranger, apparently indifferent, listened awhile 
to the village gossip and then inquired the way to Sir 
John Carleton’s. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


45 


“Do you want to see Sir John?” Spiggott asked, in 
a perplexed way, looking intently at the guest. “All 
you have to do is keep straight down the road until you 
come to the bend, just beyond the brook, and then you 
will see a gateway. But here comes Mr. Leslie, and as 
it is in his direction, he will show it to you.” 

The Rev. Hugh Leslie was the Rector of the Parish — 
a tall, fine-looking, elderly gentleman — who took care, 
as much in a plain, practical, common sense way, of the 
souls committed to his care as by preaching and exhort- 
ing. He was beloved by his parishioners, poor and 
rich, and was ever ready to help, not only with his 
purse, but with hand and counsel, those who stood in 
need. 

Mr. Leslie had been taking his morning walk, for he 
was fond of manly exercise, and was now returning, the 
ground passing swiftly beneath his rapid strides. 

“Well, Thomas, what’s the matter now?” he said, 
addressing the Innkeeper; and, observing the little 
group about the hotel, “the storm done you any 
damage ? ” 

“No,” replied Spiggott, “though it was rough 
weather. But they tell me lights were* moving in 
Lonedrear House, and I saw something strange myself, 
as this gentleman will testify ; ” and, turning to him, 
added, “he desires to see Sir John, and I thought, as 
it’s your way, you would show the road, though it 
couldn’t well be missed.” 

Mr. Leslie raised his hat politely to the stranger. 


46 


ST. MAUR; ORj AN ' earl’s wooing. 


saying: “It will give me pleasure, sir, to accompany 
you.” And then to Spiggott, as the two moved off, 
“Ah, Thomas, I am afraid that your superstitious fears 
sometimes get the better of your sound judgment. You 
may depend there are causes for these things that will 
be explained some day, and then you will laugh at your 
idle fancies.” 

“ Please God, sir, I hope it may be,” cried the other 
after him, with a strong suspicion, however, to the con- 
trary. “ I’ve tried to do honest by all men, and I trust 
the goblins will let me alone.” 

“ Spiggott is superstitious,” said the Rector, as he 
and Rufus Applegarth walked off; “but it is passing 
strange how the lights he speaks of appear and disap- 
pear in what they term ‘ the haunted house.’ I 
suppose he has told you about it?” glancing at his 
companion. 

“ Yes, he gave me the history last night,” replied the 
other, slowly, as though one might take it as they chose, 
whether he believed it or not. 

“ It is queer,” kept on the Rector ; “ for some years 
these lights have been seen at odd intervals, and though 
several times we have visited the house after their occur- 
rence, have never discovered anything to intimate that 
any one had been there. I suppose there are natural 
causes for it, which may at present seem mysterious. 
My own idea is that some unknown person visits the 
place, but it is scarcely worth while to vent my views, 
as I have no doubt Thomas has given you quite a 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 47 

surfeit of it ; ” adding, as they reached a little eminence, 
“ isn’t this a pretty bit of scenery ? And there is Sir 
John’s entrance.” 

Rufus Applegarth looked up. Not far to his left was 
a gateway, with its neat porter’s lodge — the entrance 
to Carleton Park. Some distance in front, rising ma- 
jestically along the brow of a gently sloping hill, 
offering ample space for an extended lawn, was a grand 
mass of building, with towers and turrets, arched 
portals, columns and mullioned windows, stretching 
its length against a back-ground of ancient oaks and 
dark evergreen foliage. 

The structure, originally of granite, had turned a 
grayish white from centuries of exposure. The different 
periods of its construction could be plainly told — some 
Elizabethian, some Tudor, others of more modern date. 
On the right were the terraced gardens, with green- 
houses, graperies and fountains; whilst in the rear, 
plainly shining through the branches of the trees, were 
the long lines of stable roofing. 

“What place is that?” said he, motioning in the 
direction. 

“ That is Maurland Towers,” replied the Rector. 
“ It is said to be one of the handsomest places in our 
country, as you may well see; and,” turning, “this 
more humble spot is the Rectory, at which, if you 
make any stay in our midst, I should be glad to see 
you.” 

On a path leading back from the road stood the 


48 ST. MAUK; OK, AN EARL’s WOOING. 

Parsonage, with some pretty little grounds attached, 
and adjoining them was the Church, with its sad array 
of yew trees and stones around. 

The Rector held out his friendly hand. 

“ I am obliged to you,” said his companion, coloring 
and hesitating. “I have only come to see Sir John and 
do not expect to stay, but if opportunity should allow, 
I shall be glad to avail myself of it;” and so they 
parted. 

Rufus Applegarth inquired of the woman whom he 
found at the gate of the lodge whether “Sir John were 
home?” 

She opened but a small aperture, seeming loth to let 
any one in. 

“ Yes, he is home. Do you want to see him partic- 
ularly? ” 

“ Yes, I must see him.” 

“Sir John is not well and does not care to receive 
any one, unless it is for something important.” 

“Mine is important business — at least to me.” 

The gate had opened no wider yet. 

At this moment a gentleman came up behind the 
porteress, dressed in a full suit of black — coat, vest, 
.pantaloons, gaiters, hat and neckerchief — all sad- 
colored, except his spotless shirt front and gold-rimmed 
^J^^gl^-sses, which dangled from his neck by a narrow 
black ribbon. The woman, as he approached, cour- 
teseyed low and stretched the gate wide for his egress. 

Rufus Applegarth stepped aside to allow him to pass. 


ST. MAUE; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 49 

This, attracted the gentleman’s attention, and seeing 
evidently a stranger, he spoke. 

‘‘Do you wish an interview with Sir John Carle- 
ton?” 

“ Yes, very much.” 

The gentleman eyed him closely. “ Anything in the 
way of business ? ” 

“Yes — no — not exactly. Private matters, I may 
say.” 

The gentleman still scrutinized him. “ If it is any- 
thing in regard to the estate, I am his man of business.” 

“Nothing of that kind, but I am sure he will see 
me.” 

“Sir John is not in the habit of receiving many 
persons, but if you desire” — motioning the gate to be 
opened — you will find him in the park, near the house.” 
So saying, he went on. 

Rufus Applegarth passed on along a winding avenue, 
with overhanging elms. The white graveled walk was 
strewn with dead branches and withered leaves, swept 
there by the storm. Men were busy in different places 
gathering up the debris, whilst here and there could be 
seen deer, as they darted in and out among the trees or 
grazed warily in the open glades. A turn of the path 
brought the house in view — a square, tall mansion, 
almost monumental in its proportions, impressing one 
with the idea of a dangerous place in case of fire. 

Carle ton Park was not a great landed estate, though 
ample in its dimensions. The owner had lived much 
3 


50 ST. MAUR; ORj AN EARL’s WOOING. 


abroad — almost the whole portion of his later life. 
He had inherited, besides the Baronetcy and his present 
mansion, a strictly entailed barren estate in Wales. 
Being of an energetic and determined will, he had 
succeeded in discovering rich minerals in the heretofore 
sterile soil, and applying to these, besides ordinary 
appliances, contrivances which he originated, the results 
were wonderful, and his great wealth was soon noised 
abroad. Kind and generous in disposition, he gave 
away lavishly, while his chief enjoyment was in ferret- 
ing out the secrets of scientific pursuits. 

He had had a younger brother who, bright in intel- 
lect and full of youthful spirits, had taken the highest 
honors at the University, and started out with a bril- 
liant future. Although not entitled to any part of the 
estate. Sir John, who loved him with more than a 
brother’s love, had showered wealth upon him. 

In an evil day in the midst of his career, the pretty 
face and foot of a not too celebrated French actress 
captivated his fancy, and from that hour his ruin began. 

Sir John, deep in his own occupations did not hear 
of the marriage until some time had elapsed, when his 
anger was first aroused, and, that over, he tried by 
every endeavor to lessen the catastrophe, giving them 
ample means and using every inducement to live a 
refined and happy existence, but the attractions of a 
public life were too great, and after pining some time 
for her former pleasures and excitements her wishes 
took active shape in a return to the stage, and her old 
associations. 


ST. maur; or, ak earl’s wooing. 51 


Disgusted with these, but with a fatal infatuation, her 
husband fell into bad habits and became accustomed to 
his previous antipathies, going from bad to worse until 
only a drunkard’s fate awaited him. 

A few more years of restlessness abroad, and Sir 
John, in low spirits and worse health, had returned with 
his only child — a daughter — to Carle ton Park, there to 
live in rest and retirement. 

As Rufus Applegarth came nearer the house he 
caught a glimpse of two persons walking upon the 
lawn — one a gentleman leaning gently upon the arm 
of a young girl. Conjecturing it must be they whom 
he sought, he walked directly across in the direction 
of the receding figures. 

A few moments’ rapid motion brought him again 
within sight of his search, not far distant. The elder 
person had taken a seat upon a rustic bench and was 
talking pleasantly to the fair girl who stood in front, 
her gaze, perhaps, following her thoughts into the far 
distance of time. As the new comer approached, the 
noise made of the crunching of his shoes upon the hard 
ground attracted the attention of those before him. 

“ Have I the honor of speaking to Sir John Carle- 
ton?” 

“ You have, sir,” said the Baronet, rising with some 
little difficulty, and with the assistance of his youthful 
companion. “ Excuse my slowness of motion, a man’s 
will may travel much faster than his bodily ailments 
will allow.” 


52 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“I, sir,” and Rufus Applegarth lowered his voice — 
which seemed strangely broken — “am Philip Kirby, I 
wrote to you from America and you were pleased to 
send me so kind a reply.” 

“ Philip Kirby,” said Sir John, extending his hand, 
“ that name brings back a host of recollections. So you 
are the grandson of Philip Kirby, of Lonedrear 
House?” 

“ Yes, Sir John, the grandson of him who dwelt at 
Lonedrear House, but for reasons which I will hereafter 
explain, I have chosen to adopt the name of Rufus 
Applegarth, by which you would do a kindness to call 
me.” 

“As you may please, sir. I have no doubt your 
reasons are good. I knew your grandfather well — 
though my senior by many years — and had a great 
friendship for him. I am glad to see you. Let us walk 
to the house, for by the tenor of your letter there will 
be many things you desire to know, but,” and looking 
round and recalling her to his side, for she had wan- 
dered some little distance apart at the stranger’s first 
appearance, “let me first make known to you my 
daughter Lucille.” 

As she advanced, turning her head to the stranger 
with a courteous bow, she presented one of those sweet 
types of beauty which linger in the memory rather as 
an ideal or imagination than a reality. Gentle hazel 
eyes, with a wealth of wavy chestnut hair, and that 
lovely color in her cheeks like the scarlet leaves around 


ST. MAUR; ORj Aisr earl’s wooing. 


53 


her. Lithe in figure, every movement denoting grace 
and refinement, youth budding into womanhood, 
Rufus Applegarth had never seen a fairer picture. 

As they approached the portico with its marble 
pillars, the merry sound of the huntsman’s horn with 
the cry of the hounds was heard; and casting their 
eyes in that direction they saw in the level meadows 
below the field sweep by in full view of the chase. 

Sir John’s blood seemed to tingle with excitement as 
he exclaimed : “ What fine sport ! When I was young, 
with all my occupations, I found time to hunt,” and 
then, more slowly, “ but my hunting days are over, and 
my only but greater joy than all is in my child,” and 
he affectionately pressed his hand upon her. 

The fox went swiftly along, taking without pause the 
fences, hedges and ditches which obstructed his course. 
Without a fault the hounds followed close in the rear ; 
behind these came first a strong-limbed, full-blooded 
hunter, bearing a master whose steady seat and car- 
riage bespoke the brave and fearless rider. Horse and 
rider cleared with ease each impediment as it arose, 
whilst those still further back sought breaks in the 
hedges and narrow places in the ditches. 

“ That is certainly a bold one in the lead,” said Sir 
John, alluding to the foremost horseman, ‘‘see how he 
takes that hedge, no stop, no hesitation ; but the wily 
villain Reynard has swerved and is making for the 
stone wall and great ditch. I warrant that will give 
them trouble, and the hindmost has a fair chance to 


54 


ST. MAUR; or, Alf earl’s WOOING. 

come in first, if they will but turn and go through 
yonder gate; but that first one, seems to be following 
directly in the trail, really he will never attempt that 
leap.” 

The rider, who had been keeping the lead evidently 
intended to do so, and went straight at the wall, not 
knowing the danger upon the other side, perhaps not 
caring. His horse — noble animal — never faltered, but 
rose in the air and shot like an arrow over the impedi- 
ment, struck the bank with full force, rolled over, and 
fell hard upon his rider. 

It was with terror that the party upon the lawn 
viewed this scene, and at its conclusion with exclama- 
tions of horror hastened to the place of accident. The 
other hunters seeing the advantages, as Sir J ohn had 
predicted, turned, and thus had not witnessed the 
disaster, being entirely out of sight. 

Rufus Applegarth arrived at the injured man’s side 
some moments before the others, and quickly unloosed 
his coat and vest. He had struck against a sharp 
stone, and the heavy weight of the horse had sent its 
edges into the flesh, making an ugly wound. 

Lucille Carleton saw a handsome pale face and 
motionless figure stretched upon the earth, and turned 
her face away ; Sir John stooped down to assist. 

“ Is he much hurt ? ” 

“Not seriously, I hope,” said Applegarth, closely 
inspecting. 

“We must have help and a physician immediately,” 
said Sir John, as he arose to carry out his intentions. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 55 


“ I am a surgeon,” replied the other, “ and I could 
manage very well if I had a strong, wide bandage, but 
I should have it at once,” a thought striking him, “ if 
the lady — it is a case of absolute necessity, of life, or 
death, if delayed — would let me have a wrapping.” 

Sir John turned to his daughter; in a moment a light 
shawl of finest fibre was placed in his hands. 

“ Now,” said he, at the same time tearing and adjust- 
ing the garment to the proper dimensions, “ please wet 
your handkerchief in the stream and hand it to me.” 

Lucille was before her father, and quickly dipping 
her own as well as his into the water, passed them to 
him. 

“That will do,” said Applegarth. After applying 
them, he bound the improvised bandage tightly over 
the cut. “ There, you see it has stopped the bleeding, 
which is all that is requisite.” 

By this time the laborers in the park had reached 
the scene. “ Take him in your arms,” commanded the 
Baronet. “ There, easily, not so fast, and bear him to 
the hall.” The others followed. 

“ Do you know who he is ? ” 

“ Yes, it is Lord Saint Maur.’ 

“Of Maurland Towers ? ” 

“ Yes ; I suppose you saw the place upon entering.” 

“ It was pointed out to me.” 

“I only know him by sight,” said Sir John. “Du- 
ring my long absence, the younger people have grown 
out of my knowledge. I have learned that, for one so 


56 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

young, he is becoming quite prominent, both in politi- 
cal and literary fame. He can scarcely be more than 
five and twenty.” 

They had reached the hall and the still unconscious 
form was laid gently upon a lounge. Brandy was 
brought and the surgeon placing it to the young man’s 
lips, succeeded in making him swallow a little. This 
had the desired effect and he slowly opened his eyes. 

Lucille, rarely meeting gentlemen — for her father in 
his retirement cast his own exclusiveness around her, 
and undivided in his love, would not have parted with 
her, even though royalty had offered — saw the pale 
exhausted face, with brown curling locks surrounding 
a fair forehead, a sweet, almost womanish mouth, the 
lips partly opened. There were few handsomer men of 
that clear aristocratic cast of features than Erroll, Lord 
St. Maur, of Maurland Towers. 

Left at an early age “ lord of himself, that heritage 
of woe,” he probably had, by following his own 
inclinations and tastes, made a more prominent mark 
than if he were under the tutelage of others. 

Maurland Towers was one of — if not the greatest — 
landed estate in the county. Its possessor endeared 
himself to those he came in contact with ; and beloved 
by his tenants, popular in society, popular among men 
of his own class, his friendship and acquaintance were 
eagerly sought. Though not a society man, he would 
listen patiently to those who expound their views as 
standard, yet if a question arose, his opinion, always 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 57 


given in a frank and kindly manner, without egotism 
or vanity, was usually regarded as final authority. 

Among his own sex he was manly ; with women he 
possessed that gentleness which made each his champion. 

Having taken and occupied with interest and advan- 
tage, the hereditary seat of the St. Maurs in ^‘The 
Lords,” he had been at first caught at by the dominant 
party, for his family prestige and political influence ; 
but afterward was looked up to and applauded for his 
sound sense and brilliancy of intellect, and ere long 
was identified as one of the leading spirits among 
the older and more prominent statesmen. 

On opening his eyes for the first time, since the acci- 
dent, his senses and vision first took in the object of 
the fair girl some few steps from him. Bewildered 
in regard to other things, not knowing where, or how 
he was, he gazed at the sweet face before him and the 
impression stamped then upon his heart and soul was 
never erased. Seeing others around he tried to rise, but 
fell helplessly back. 

“ Where am I ? I am hurt.” 

“You have fallen from your horse and are at 
Carle ton Park.” 

“Yes, I remember; I fell,” he said faintly. “Am I 
much hurt ? I only feel weak.” 

“ No,” said Rufus Applegarth, “ only a good shaking 
up,” not caring to say it was worse, “but you must 
keep^very quiet.” 

“ Thank you,” he answered, and was still for a few 


58 ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 

minutes. Then trying ta rise again and casting his 
eyes where Lucille had been standing, but withdrawn, 
as also Sir John, and sinking back breathless, he asked: 

“ Was there not a lady there just now — who was it ? ” 

“ Miss Carleton was there.” 

^‘Miss Carleton?” he repeated, and then was 
perfectly quiet. 

Sir John returned with Mrs. Simpson, the house- 
keeper, who brought an anodyne which Applegarth 
administered, saying : “ You must try and rest now, 

just where you are, it is the best for you.” 

In a few minutes a deep sleep had taken possession 
of him, and during this, he was carefully conveyed to 
a more fitting resting place. 

“ Yours was a fortunate and timely arrival,” said Sir 
John, as they stood, a few minutes later, discussing the 
affair. “ I am sure you have done his lordship a great 
service.” 

“ It was not a difficult feat,” the other replied. “ I 
observed, from the profuse flow of blood, that a vessel 
was in some way pierced, or slightly opened, and I 
simply required a wide, strong bandage, which had the 
effect of bringing the parts tightly together.” 

“I am glad it is no worse,” continued Sir John. 
“When I first saw him, I thought it was beyond 
repair.” And then hurriedly, as though he had 
neglected something: “You must let me send to the 
inn for your luggage.” 

“ I am afraid I cannot stay longer than to have some 


ST. MAtJR; Oil, Ali earl’s WOOIKG. 


59 


conversation with you in regard to — past events.” 
This was spoken slowly, as if the utterer, relieved for 
a time, had returned to a sad and unpleasant train of 
thought. “ Besides, I have some one in London under 
my protection — a young lady — in my charge, from 
America, destined to a home among relatives here. 
They were absent upon my arrival, and not being able 
to restrain my impatience, I left, but desire to return 
as quickly as possible.” 

“ I am grieved to hear it, for my associations with 
your grandfather make me feel a more than ordinary 
interest in yourself. When do you expect these people 
to return ? ” 

“ In a few* days at farthest.” 

“ Then I will send for your portmanteau, for surely 
you can spare a day, and so short a time can make but 
little difference to your protegSe, Come, I will accept 
of no excuse.” 

Having given the necessary orders, he added : 

“ Later, I want to show you my laboratory. Your 
grandfather was the first to lead my mind in that direc- 
tion, and I have to thank him for many pleasant hours 
in searching its mysteries ; but at present, I must rest. 
I trust, when we meet at dinner, you will have a good 
account to give of your patient.” 

So saying, he withdrew, while Rufus Applegarth 
found his time pass quickly, examining the grounds, 
inspecting the extensive library, and paying the required 
attention to the invalid. 


60 ST. maur; or^ an earl's wooing. 


CHAPTER IV. 


AUDLEY TREVELLYAN, THE GUARDSMAN. 
OT until later on the following day, did Rufus 



lA Applegarth see the Baronet. The unusual exer- 
cise had exhausted his by no means strong constitution, 
and confined him to his room. The guest, each time 
receiving messages of excuse and apology, had taken 
his meals alone. Lucille seldom made an appearance 
during the stay of her father’s infrequent visitors, and 
it was not until after he had breakfasted and was 
strolling in one of the winding walks, that he came 
suddenly upon her. She had evidently been walking 
rapidly, as her face indicated, being suffused with a 
lovely glow. 

“ Good-morning, Miss Carle ton,” said he. “We are 
evidently bent upon the same errand — a quest for 
fresh air.” 

“ Yes ; I have been walking, but not far. How is 
Lord St. Maur ? ” 

“ Much better, though he had a restless night. I 
have to thank some one for having every thing pre- 
pared as it was needed.” 

And he had indistinct visions of a figure very much 
like the one before him, flitting outside the door and in 
the long corridor, during his visits to the room of his 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


61 


patient. If anything, the color at first observed, 
became deeper and mounted higher. 

“ Mrs. Simpson, though aged, is very thoughtful,” she 
replied ; “ and an occasion of Jihis kind is an excellent 
opportunity for the display of not only her good, but 
greatly to her delight, active qualities. I suppose there 
is no real danger now ? ” 

“ No ; ” wheeling round and commencing his return 
with her ; “ the only thing we have to guard against is 
inflammation; but such things are not pleasant to 
gentle ears. Surgeons soon become accustomed to suf- 
fering, pain and death, and though having as tender 
feelings as others, it would be madness to let them have 
sway. We look upon it wholly in a practical light, and 
pursue those methods which the occasion requires. If 
we allow emotional feelings to usurp our professional 
judgment, and interfere with cool action, it is far 
worse for the sufferer. In America, from which I 
have recently come, I was stationed in the vicinity of 
a great public improvement, where accidents are of 
daily occurrence, and I gained knowledge in perhaps 
the best of all schools — actual work. I only say this, 
that you might have the more confidence in my dealing 
with the present case;” and laughing, “professional 
men are only too glad of lauding their own vocation, 
when opportunity occurs and a willing audience at- 
tained.” 

“ Oh, no ; I am much interested in what you say. 
Although enduring scenes of suffering, that he may 


62 ST. maur; or, an rari^’s wooing. 


gather experience, yet I have always looked upon a 
good physician as a good angel, bringing comfort and 
joy by healing the sick and soothing pain. A good 
physician should be the most praised and loved of all 
men.” 

“ I am glad to hear Miss Carleton speak so enthusi- 
astically ; it is seldom we get so much praise. Few of 
us ever rise to eminence, or fortune ; the best years of 
our lives are passed in learning, and when we have 
arrived at an advanced stage, and think we are about 
to master the science, the evU, so often warded from 
others, claims us for its own. You see, when we com- 
mence to talk, ‘ shop,’ ” he continued, laughing, “ we 
will discourse and lecture to any extent permitted.” 
And they entered the hall together. 

Lucille passed into the morning room. This was a 
large apartment filled with ornaments and handsome 
pictures. The shutters had been but partly opened, 
causing the light to enter in narrow straggling rays, 
leaving places in deepened shadow. Picking up a 
book, she sat silently looking over the pages, probably 
unconscious of either its title, or contents, as the leaves 
were not turned, until startled by a slight noise close by. 
She looked up and met the glance of St. Maur, still 
pale, still handsome. The blood came and went in her 
cheek ; she started as if to retire, then checked herself. 

“ I hope I am not disturbing Miss Carleton,” he said, 
apologetically. Meeting no one, I wandered in here, 
attracted by the pictures.” 


ST. MAUK; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


63 


“ Not in the least,” she replied, recovering her com- 
posure ; hilt I was surprised to see you out so soon.” 

“ I feel quite strong. The surgeon who has been so 
kind, tells me that I will regain my strength rapidly. 
I might say it was only a fainting spell, or extended 
weakness. I am sorry to have given so much trouble.” 

“ Hardly trouble,” she replied. “ It is a great 
sensibility of thankfulness to find you have escaped 
so lightly.” 

St. Maur looked at her fervently for a moment. 
What strange thrill was this coursing through his 
veins I What fire of ecstasy leaping in his heart and 
brain ! It had never been there before. 

“ Miss Carleton can scarcely know how deeply grate- 
ful I am for her solicitude. I shall ever hereafter take 
my fall as a lucky event, since it has won such sympa- 
thy.” The color again mounted to her cheek, which 
noticing, he added quickly: “I only spoke as I felt; 
forgive me if j-ou misconstrue it for flattery.” 

It was spoken so earnestly and with a gleaming light 
in the clear eye, that as glancing up, she met his gaze, 
there was naught else needed in vindication. She 
simply said, rising : 

“ I fear you overrrate your strength, and I will not 
add encouragement by making you talk ^ — ” 

“ I can assure you, I never was better in my life,” 
he cried, eagerly, almost pleadingly. “Ho tell me 
where this picture was taken I ” 

And surely there was no sign of illness or fatigue. 


64 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

as he stood erect and graceful before her, holding out 
this straw of hope for detention, and pointing to a 
portrait of herself, which Sir John had taken great 
pride in having so successfully accomplished, by a 
foreign artist ; a beautiful picture indeed. 

“ It was taken abroad,” she replied, spiiling faintly. 
“ In Dusseldorf, I think.” 

“It is lovely,” he breathed, absently. “Lovely, 
but,” comparing it with the real face, “ not so fair as 
the original.” 

“ There is papa now,” she exclaimed, hearing his 
voice. “ He does not know of your coming down.” 

And seizing upon this hasty excuse for escape, she 
went into the hall, but stopped suddenly, confronting 
two dilemmas, neither wishing to advance, nor daring 
to retreat. Sir John was standing in the midst, talk- 
ing to a gentleman, evidently a new acquaintance, as 
he still held the card of introduction in his hand. 

“ I wrote to say that I was coming down to-day,” 
the stranger was saying, addressing the Baronet, “ and 
thought something was wrong, when I found no con- 
veyance at the inn, and upon making enquiry, was told 
of his accident.” 

The speaker was a tall, full -bearded, raw-boned 
fellow, with clear, blue eyes, and a smile always 
lingering about the mouth. This was Captain Audley 
Trevellyan, of the Guards. 

St. Maur and he had from childhood been the best 
and warmest friends; a friendship which, as they 


ST. MAUK; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


65 


became older, was based upon that firmest of founda- 
tions — mutual respect and esteem. 

Trevellyan, aside from his mother and sisters, pos- 
sessed a small income, to which being added the army- 
pay, allowed him to live in an independent, easy, if not 
luxurious style. As his military duties were neither 
arduous nor confining, the uninterrupted association 
the two had enjoyed, was scarcely infringed upon. 

When St. Maur was in town, occupying his seat in 
the Lords during the season, outside of its sessions at 
the clubs, operas, or entertainments, they were seldom 
seen apart. Either would have gone any length f^ 
the other, never thinking of professing or displaying, 
yet by every act and word, revealing it. 

The Guardsman was full of fun and frolic. There 
was not a dignified bone in his body. Ready to sing a 
song, flirt, dance, or drink a glass with his comrades ; 
yet those who knew him best, never dared to go beyond 
a limit where good breeding ceased. Like unto St. 
Maur, he was sought after, and was a thorough favor- 
ite, even more so than his friend, who possessed a cold 
reserve, which was with many an impassable barrier ; 
whilst the former had only his kind heart and good 
nature to recommend him. Entirely unselfish, he 
would put himself to any inconvenience to oblige, and 
for the asking would lend more than his last pound by 
the use of his signature, keeping within reasonable 
bound, and should he suffer by the act, would deny 
himself in other ways to repair the loss. 

4 


66 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ I have not seen him as yet to-day,” responded the 
Baronet to his visitor’s enquiry, “but here is Dr. 
Applegarth ; ” who approached. “ He can let us know.” 

“ He spoke of getting up this morning, though I tried 
to dissuade him,” said the person addressed. “ However, 
the night being passed, he need anticipate no further 
trouble; it was simply the opening of an artery, pros- 
tration naturally following.” 

Here Lucille came diffidently to her father’s side, 
sliding her hand in his : “ I suppose you are speaking 

of Lord St. Maur ; he is in the morning room.” 

Captain Trevellyan, engrossed by the surgeon’s 
account, caught an indistinct meaning and glimpse of 
this half side play. 

“ You will find him in the morning room. Captain 
Trevellyan, said Sir John, pointing to it. “ He seems 
to have violated your persuasions.” 

Trevellyan entered the designated room. St. Maur, 
chagrined at the fleeting of his pretty vision, had taken 
up the discarded volume, and, like its recent holder, 
his thoughts were evidently not upon the pages; so 
much was he engrossed, that he had not heard the 
other's voice, and only observed his close presence. 

“ Erroll, what ’s all this I hear of your being hurt ? ” 

“ Why, Trevellyan, how glad I am to see you. By 
the way, I had forgotten you were coming down 
to-day.” And the two friends shook hands. 

“ A nice mess you ’ve made of it,” said the Guards- 
man, trying to conceal in a bluff mode of speaking, the 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 67 


tender sympathy underneath. “You always were a 
fortunate fellow though, and never more in luck than 
this time. It’s a wonder you were n’t killed.” 

“ It was a pretty hard fall, and I feel aches and pains 
all over ; but I ’ve sent for the carriage, I don’t want 
to be more of a nuisance here than I can help, and, 
you can assist me, should I require it. Where shall I 
find Sir John, to take my leave and thank him for liis 
kindness ? ” 

“ He was out here a moment ago,” said the Captain, 
examining the hall, but his search was not verified. 
“ Better ring the bell and summon a servant ; that ’s 
the quickest.” And he accordingly touched the tassel. 

“ Will you tell Sir John Carleton,” said St. Maur, 
speaking to the attending domestic, “ that I am about 
to take my leave, and would desire to present my 
thanks in person, before departing.” 

Instead of the servant, Rufus Applegarth returned, 
saying: “Sir John requests me to offer his apology; 
that you will excuse his apparent want of courtesy in 
not seeing you off, but he would avoid any further 
effort or exertion.” 

“ Please tell him,” said St. Maur, “ how sorry I am 
to be partly, if not wholly, the cause of his indisposi- 
tion. To you, I owe my warmest thanks, if not my 
life. I would there were some way I might show my 
gratitude.” 

“ My doing a kindness, or being of service to one of 
my fellow-beings, is a sufficiently gratifying thought I 
assure you,” was the courteous response. 


68 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


“I hope you will let me see you at Maurland 
Towers,” said St. Maur, slightly embarrassed; “for 
surely our acquaintance must not end here.” 

‘\Thank you, and should I remain in the neighbor- 
hood longer than I at present expect, I will be glad to 
avail myself of your kind invitation, but my stay is 
very limited.” 

St. Maur, assisted by Trevellyan, entered the car- 
riage. He had lingered longer than necessary, in hopes 
of catching a last glimpse of his sweet ideal picture, 
but no glance rewarded him, and he had to succumb to 
Trevellyan’s third query of “what he was waiting for?” 
Once in the vehicle, his friend questioned ; “ Who is that 
surgeon ? ” 

“ An American, I believe.” 

“A rather queer sort of fellow, I take it, though I 
confess I was favorably impressed with him.” 

“ Yes, he was very kind and gentle with me. I can- 
not offer friendship, his manner repels it ; and yet I 
should like to know him farther. He has a preoccupied, 
absent air I do not quite understand.” 

“And the Baronet,” said the other, “I’ve often 
heard of, but never seen him before.” 

“ I scarcely met him.” 

“ I think I observed a young lady too.” 

“ Miss Carleton, I believe ; but how did you hear I 
was hurt ? ” 

So the last subject of conversation took an unnoticed 
but abrupt turn, and was not alluded to again. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


69 


CHAPTER V. 


SIR JOHN CARLETON. 

A RE they off?” said Sir John to Applegarth, and 
JlX. then returned to the library, carefully closing 
the door. 

“ Yes, they are gone, leaving thanks and regrets.” 

“ I have an aversion to receiving strangers. I can- 
not tell why, but it grows upon me. More habit, I 
suppose, than anything else. But to return to our 
subject. I hardly know how to begin to tell you of 
those things, which I know instinctively you desire to 
hear. As I am not aware of your past history, of how 
far your knowledge goes in regard to these events, or of 
how much your grandfather imparted to you, it would 
be better if you gave me some data or slight resumS of 
your life. It might, perhaps, avoid painful recitals; 
and then I can take up the threads and join them 
together, so as to make all plain and intelligible. I 
must tell you it is with great reluctance I enter upon 
this narration, as I cannot see the good to be derived, 
and it will cause unnecessary pain.” 

“ It is my urgent request that you will telLme all, 
concealing nothing. It is not curiosity that prompts 
this, but a feeling I cannot overcome — a something 
which impels me on to a fate that is at present 


70 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

shrouded in darkness, but which I am convinced will 
work itself out for good or evil. I, therefore, beg of you 
to let me hear all.” 

“ As I said in my reply to your letter,” returned Sir 
John, “it is for you to choose. If you demand, I will 
comply, however reluctantly.” 

“ Then^ sir,, I will accept of your suggestion, which is 
wise, and will begin by saying that my earliest recollec- 
tions are connected with a small cottage on a broad 
street or roadway in one of the smaller American 
villages. Here my grandfather lived in the utmost 
retirement, keeping two servants, a man and a woman, 
who had followed him from this country— living in a 
style which denoted respectability, but economy. He 
instructed me until I was, perhaps, ten or twelve years 
old. Then there came a very hard winter, the snow 
lying deep during the whole season. Being unaccus- 
tomed to living in so severe a climate, and the framed 
dwelling being cold— for in that district we had only 
wood to burn — he was taken ill, and, after lingering 
some weeks, died. 

“ The physician of the village was an educated gentle- 
man and, outside of his professional hours, frequently 
visited our house, finding my grandfather one of the 
few with whom he could congenially converse. He 
attended him faithfully in his last illness ; and my own 
helpless condition preying much upon my grandfather’s 
mind, he left his affairs in the hands of this gentleman, 
as also the charge of myself. Dr. Applegarth, whose 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 71 


name I have assumed, was a bachelor, but took me to 
his house, and was ever after the kindest of friends. 
The two servants were provided for, but they were old 
and soon passed away. 

“My guardian and friend brought me up to the 
study of his own profession, and in after years, little by 
little, installed me into his practice. It seems he knew 
nothing of my grandfather’s antecedents, being too 
courteous to seek a confidence, and the other was 
reticent. 

“ Upon his dying bed my grandfather left for me a 
chest containing papers, memoranda, and some few 
valuable souvenirs. Dr. Applegarth had looked into 
these, and concluding from their contents it would but 
cause sorrow, refrained from giving them to me. It 
was not until his death that I came into possession of 
such facts as I have. Up to that time I was in igno- 
rance of whom my father was, and had never dreamed 
there were such secrets in existence as the box con- 
tained. I do not reproach my friend for their conceal- 
ment — he acted as he thought for the best. Having no 
relatives, he left me all he was possessed of — a comfort- 
able maintenance. 

“ In looking over his effects I came across the chest, 
and, upon opening it, found bundles of old letters, 
miniatures and ancient keepsakes. Studying these out, 
I discovered my parentage, and last I found a bundle 
of newspapers containing accounts of the trial of 
Mathew Matherton, at whose commitment you were 
the magistrate, and of his after escape. 


72 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


» “ That tale of horror chilled my blood, and then it 

boiled with rage. I became like a maniac, although I 
felt my anger was impotent, knowing my wrath could 
never find an object upon which to wreak its vengeance. 
Yet I swore in my frenzy, if I ever discovered this fiend 
whom I must call father, I would take retribution in 
my own hands ; aye, by the eternal God, I swore it.” 

“You, who know all, will make allowance for my 
vehemence. When I recall these terrible things my 
anger gets the better of my reason. From the files of 
newspapers I went to a larger city, and referred to 
your name in the Peerage. Almost hopeless, I wrote 
to your address, and upon receipt of your reply, as 
soon as I could arrange for my departure — which took 
longer than I supposed — I left America. The rest you 
know.” 

The speaker’s voice trembled with suppressed emo- 
tion during this recital. His face was flushed, and 
his whole frame seemed to labor under intense excite- 
ment. 

For a moment there was silence between the two, 
and then the Baronet said: “My son, for my years 
may grant me to use such familiarity, remember that 
vengeance belongeth unto a Higher One. I can under- 
stand and sympathize with your passions, but earthly 
retribution, I doubt not, is long since past.” 

“ He may be living,” the other replied, his manner 
growing calmer ; “ but, pleasing God, I hope never to 
cross my path.” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL's WOOING. 


73 


“ Do you still insist upon hearing all?” 

“ Yes, spare nothing — worse I could not hear ! ” 

“ Then,” resumed Sir John, “ what you have told me 
will in a great degree assist my narrative. When I was 
yet a young man I had determined to spend some time 
abroad, and had gone to the Continent, there to join 
several companions of my own age. We had visited 
the most interesting parts of Europe, and were home- 
ward bound, when circumstances brought us to Baden 
Baden, the great gambling centre. One evening as I 
was retiring, perhaps earlier than my comrades — for 
they sat up far into the night, in traversing the' long 
piazzas of the hotel — I heard voices in angry dispute. 
They were directly in my path, and as I came near I 
observed an old gentleman, small of stature, whilst 
opposite to him, leaning against one of the pillars of 
the portico, was a younger man. The elder one seemed 
much excited, and was saying : 

“ ‘ I have done all that I could to avoid you. I have 
travelled from place to place, but to find my steps 
dogged. I have forbidden you all intercourse with my 
daughter, but you find cunning devices to circumvent 
me, and she,’ here his tone softened, ‘like all her sex, 
is weak and frail, and cannot understand her father is 
doing the best, and may never know it until too late.’ 

“ ‘ That is all very well,’ the other replied, ‘ but fair 
or foul, I have her love. It is only for your sake she 
withholds. You have money ! why not settle down in 
your old age, with a dutiful son-in-law, who will be sure 


74 ST. KAUK; OE; an eakl's wooing. 

to take care of your property, and so pass your days in 
peace. There is a picture of happiness for you! Yea, 
or nay, it must and will come ! ’ 

“ ‘Scoundrel ! do you dare tell me to my face of such 
a union, when you know my utter abhorrence and 
detestation of you. I would rather see my daughter 
dead. I gave you two thousand guineas but a few 
weeks since — which I suppose you have gambled 
away — upon the consideration that you would haunt 
me no longer, for which I have your written promise ; 
but what is the force of a promise with an utterly 
unworthy and depraved villain, without one spark of 
manhood. I would call you out, but that I might call 
in vain, your cowardice is even afraid of an old man, 
and kill you I cannot, though if ever there was justifi- 
cation, it is here ; and she, oh, heavens, what a curse ! 
she loves this vile reptile in the semblance of a man.’ 

“ ‘ Really, I am much obliged,’ replied the younger 
one, ‘for your very complimentary remarks. As to 
the money, I confess you are wholly right ; but you 
have plenty, and now I have discovered a new method 
by which I must win. But do you suppose I have no 
affection for the fair creature whom Providence hap- 
pens to make j^our daughter ? Does not my very per- 
sistence proclaim love, and does not her heart answer ? 
Do you think it is for gold alone that I strive to win ? 
Your obstacles give me fresh impulse to overcome. 
Come, come, old man, I ask you fairly for the pretty 
bird, and if you refuse, why,, take the consequences.’ 


ST. maur; or, an earl's wooing. 75 


“ ^ That I should be spoken to thus, about my own 
flesh and blood I Out of my sight, villain ; you do but 
insult the presence of a gentleman I Out of my sight, 
I say, or I will call the watch ! ’ 

“At this moment I stepped forward and said to your 
grandfather, for you may discover it was he, ‘ Sir, my 
coming is accidental, I assure you, having no intention 
to intrude, but observing you are an Englishman and a 
gentleman, as a fellow-countryman I offer you my 
assistance, for I see you are in distress.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, thank you ! thank you ! ’ he exclaimed ; ‘ it 
gives me joy to hear so friendly a voice. Sir, I am 
indeed in deep distress, and if you would not think it 
forward, I will appeal to you for advice.’ 

“His companion slunk away upon my coming, and 
he continued: 

“ ‘ If you will step this way into my room, we will be 
more private.” 

“We exchanged the courtesies of introduction, and 
by that time entered his chamber. After a few pre- 
liminary remarks, he said, that he was sojourning there 
with his daughter ; that he had come abroad on her 
account, to try and sever the feelings which she enter- 
tained for the man with whom he had been so angrily 
conversing. She had met him, how or in what manner 
he could scarcely tell, but in a desultory sort of way, 
and he had managed to ingratiate himself into her 
affections. He was much shocked when he discovered 
it, for as yet the thought of marriage in connection 


76 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

with his daughter, had not entered his mind. Imme- 
diately making inquiries, he found the young man’s 
character and habits most immoral; that he had fre- 
quently been in trouble, at one time coming under the 
ban of the law, and was an adventurer of the worst 
description, of no parentage, further than his appear- 
ance denoted that it must have been Jewish. 

“ ‘ I showed all this to my daughter,’ he continued ; 

‘ I produced ample proofs to substantiate what I said, 
but he had gained such a hold upon her that my efforts 
were in vain. I then worked upon his mercenary 
character, and paid him to keep away, but found his 
absence was only procured so long as the money lasted. 
Again and again I tried, but all to no purpose ; he has 
hounded me from place to place, to my home in Lon- 
don, and thence back. Everywhere I go, there he is, 
until I am well nigh broken-hearted with grief, for this 
is my only child, my only kin. She is not perverse, or 
wilful, but upon this one point — not to give him up. 
She will not be undeceived. She says he has her 
promise, and she will not break it, nor believe evil 
reports of him, for he tells her they are lies. What 
can I do ! ’ and here he wept bitterly. 

“I was at a loss to know how to advise, but my tem- 
per and mettle were aroused, and my spirit enlisted 
against such persecution, so after reflection I said, 
‘Leave the matter to me; maybe I can devise some- 
thing for your relief.’ With some further talk I left 
him more composed, promising to return again. I 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 77 

coiild see that he placed implicit confidence in my 
judgment, though he had little hope from the first of 
avoiding the catastrophe of such a marriage. However, 
my promise gave him comfort. 

“ I turned the whole matter over thoroughly in my 
mind that night, and determined on m}^ course. I knew 
this class of men, adventurers as they are, their antece- 
dents of little consequence or cared for in the transient 
communities in which they throw themselves, deceiving 
in regard to their position, if you can call it deception, 
where people are seldom interested sufficiently to ques- 
tion, so long as they contribute to the general amuse- 
ment and extend their suave manners and gallantries 
into the saloons and ball rooms. Still, their behavior 
must maintain an outward semblance of respectability, 
which, if once laid bare, or exposed, ruins their every 
prospect of success for the time being in that particular 
locality, and they are obliged to find new fields for 
their exploits. 

“ With these reflections, upon the following morning 
I led my young friends’ inclinations in the direction of 
the gambling hall, and we sauntered thither, where I 
felt confident we should find my sudden but self-made 
enemy. 

“ He was at the principal table, intent upon the play, 
but with an ever anxious glance back and around, for 
guilty consciences know not when justice may overtake 
them, and his mode of life had made him watchful and 
guarded. It was that popular hour when the place was 


78 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

most crowded with visitors, many ladies being present, 
either as spectators or participants in the games. I 
requested my companions to keep close to me, permit- 
ting no one to interfere with my movements. This 
excited their curiosity, and as I was full of fun and 
humor in those days, they expected the denouement of 
a practical joke, for I refrained from communicating 
my true intentions, not wishing them to know the girl’s 
weakness, or reveal the father’s sorrow. 

“The youngest of our party was St. Maur, then 
scarcely of age, father of the present earl, and the 
Duke of Farnborough, who afterward married Lady 
Jane St. Maur, and others equally distinguished, so 
that our arrival and stay had been heralded in the 
various prints, and we were quite the cynosure of tuft 
hunting eyes. 

“ I had provided myself with a heavy German horse- 
whip, which was concealed in my breast. As we 
paraded the saloon, stopping here and there to utter a 
salute, or chat with a chance acquaintance, his restless 
eye detected and must have recognized me of the pre- 
vious night, for he wedged further in the crowd to escape 
observation. This did not deter me, though it required 
manoeuvring to get closer, and at the same time avoid 
suspicion. When within arm’s length, I seized him 
firmly by the collar. At the first intimation, the well- 
drilled attendants rushed forward to quell the disturb- 
ance, but seeing who we were, and of what rank, and 
my friends circling round me, caused them to desist. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL's WOOING. 79 


My companions told me afterwards, though taken by 
surprise, they could see I was carrying out a settled 
line of action, and made up their minds to see me well 
through it. I dragged him somewhat apart from the 
throng, and drawing forth my whip, in the presence of 
them all, proceeded to lay it on right lustily. Resist- 
ance was of no use, he had to submit, the greater his 
efforts to escape the more rapidly descended the blows, 
and by the time I had got pretty well through, the by- 
standers overcame us and interfered. I cast him from 
me with violence and cried, ‘ If you ever dare to trou- 
ble, or annoy — a gentleman — you know whom I mean, 
I will kill you as I would a dog.’ That is the last I 
ever saw of him until the trial. Myself and friends 
were arrested, and made to pay a heavy fine. 

“ The next morning I was awakened early by your 
grandfather, who came to my room, and with a broken 
heart told me they had gone. Mathew Matherton had 
obtained a secret meeting, and so worked upon the 
girl’s sympathies for his misfortunes that she had fled, 
thinking his recent harsh treatment was instigated by 
her father, justifying her in absolving herself from a 
promise not to marry without his consent. They were 
wedded at a small church some miles distant, and your 
grandfather never met them again until that fatal night 
you know of. He attempted to follow, but they stu- 
diously avoided him, the husband incessantly arranging 
some cunningly devised scheme, by which Mr. Kirby 
would know of their poverty, or distress, and the 


80 ST. MAUR; OR; an earl’s wooing. 

means of sending money. After much fruitless labor 
he gave the search up, keeping them informed of his 
address. He came here for no other reason, I believe, 
than to be near me, who knew his sorrow. I saw him 
frequently, and though I attributed much of his mis- 
fortunes to myself, for had I not acted in so hasty and 
intemperate a way, things might have been different, 
yet he never upbraided or said a harsh word to me. 

“Your grandfather kept them constantly supplied 
with money, until a fortune, at one time large, was 
almost entirely swept away. It was in answer to these 
last demands that he experienced difficulty in raising 
the amount, and from that delay, and for a proper place 
to seclude, his wife, who, after years without promise, 
was about to give birth to a child, it is supposed he 
came to Wentworth. 

“Much of her time, since her marriage, had been 
passed alone, and in poverty ; her husband would allow 
her but a scanty maintenance, whilst he indulged his 
inveterate taste for play. It was a disease, a mono- 
mania. He was continually betting upon some new 
method, or wild chimera, by which he drew conclusions 
that he must win. 

“ She was too proud to ask assistance, and was igno- 
rant of his frequent demands, her husband intercepting 
all communication ; and it was when he ordered her to 
sign a letter to her father, demanding money at once, 
that she refused to comply until she could see him in 
person, as they were so near the end of their journey. 


ST. MAUE; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


81 


He was aware that once under her father’s protection, 
the opportunity to acquire the coveted sum Avould be 
lost, and that is what induced him to stop at the inn 
and led to such sad results. 

“ The rest you have gleaned from the papers of that 
day, which are in your possession. 

“I have told you all I know. You demanded a 
plain, unvarnished history, which, against my wish and 
inclinations, I have given you, though scarcely fit 
or proper for a son to hear. But I would not pass 
lightly by the first request from the only living repre- 
sentative of Philip Kirby, though it cost me a greater 
pang.” 

“Your candor will be a source of relief to me,” said 
his listener. “ I now know the truth, and can form no 
darker phantoms.” 

He was silent for a while, then glancing at the 
lengthening shadows, arose, saying : 

“ I must express my gratitude for your kindly inter- 
est and hospitality, but my time is limited. I expected 
to return to London ere this, and, with your permission, 
will now take my leave, so as to be in time for the 
evening coach.” 

“ Must you go so soon ? but if you will, surely take 
one of my carriages.” 

“ I would prefer my own way.; it is but a passing 
whim, which I hope you will allow me to gratif}^ 
though I will accept of the offer of a conveyance so 
far as “ Lonedrear House,” which, if I start now, will 
5 


82 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

give me an opportunity of inspecting, and the public 
conveyance may pick me up later.” 

“ As you please. I will not be an obstacle to your 
inclinations,” then opening a desk, “ here are the keys 
of what I may call your own property ; I have had 
them all these years. They were handed me by Mr. 
Kirby’s servant, with a note, asking that it be disposed 
of in some way. I placed it in my agent’s hands to 
let, or sell, but there appears to be a fatality about it; 
he has never had an offer. I wrote to Mr. Kirby’s 
address in London, but failing to receive a reply, called 
and found he was gone, they knew not wliither. I 
suppose he was under the impression it was long since 
sold for county rates. I have never had it repaired, 
considering it a useless expenditure, and unless you 
can make use of it as a residence, it will prove a burden 
upon your hands. I will not detain you longer. If 
you can find time before your return to America — 
should that be your intention — I shall always be glad to 
see you here, and trust, if circumstances permit, you 
will make it as much as possible your home during 
your sojourn. It only remains for me to say good-by, 
and to wish you God speed.” 

Kufus Applegarth, during this interview, had re- 
strained his feelings to the utmost. From the workings 
and tv/itchings of the muscles of his face could be seen 
the control he was exercising. Now it was over, and 
knowing all, he was calmer, but his thoughts seemed 
to goad and torment him : “ His father a murderer, the 
slayer of his mother.” As driving through the Park 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


83 


upon that still autumn evening, his mind became more 
composed, but now and then he would start, muttering 
between his teeth: “Should I ever cross this man — 
but no, it is impossible, he is long since dead — but, 
should fate bring him in my path, in poverty, or wealth, 
ill health, or sickness, father though he is, I would 
trample him as I would a reptile ; no mercy, no cry for 
help should penetrate my heart with pity ; I would kill 
him, thanking God for the privilege.” 

Halting at the inn to give directions as to the coach 
stopping for him, he continued, and was set down at 
Lonedrear House. 

“ I hope, sir, you are not going to live here,” said the 
groom, respectfully, as he drew rein in front of the 
dilapidated place. “I do not mean to meddle with 
what is not my business, but ill luck seems to attend 
the house.” 

“Don’t fear, my man,” said the other, as leaping 
lightly from the wagon he dropped a half crown into 
his palm, “ that ’s for your trouble, and thanks for the 
warning.” 

Taking the keys from his pocket he inserted the 
largest in the strong lock of the iron gates. It was a 
useless task. As well try to wrench the bolts from 
their bands as make the key turn. He then essayed to 
climb over, and by dint of sticking his feet in crannies 
in the wall, and holding to the bars, he succeeded. 
Once over, he could observe the interior ; desolate and 
dreary was the scene. The frost had cut the tall weeds 
and scattered the leaves of the wild autumn flowers. 


84 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

He passed on, upon the same grass-overgrown flags 
which its last occupant had so incessantly paced. He 
fitted the proper key to the door, but with as little 
purpose as the gate. He endeavored to push it open, 
but it withstood every effort. Then going to a side 
entrance, which was as securely fastened as the first, 
he clambered over the broken transom, gaining admis- 
sion into a dark, narrow passage. Pressing forward to 
where he saw a glimmer of light, he discovered a stair- 
way, which, ascending, brought him to the main hall, 
from which doors opened into the adjacent apartments. 
These he inspected severally, more from curiosity than 
any other feeling, for there was nothing to be gained, 
or expected, saving to look upon scenes with which his 
grandfather must have been so familiar in his loneli- 
ness. The furniture, at no time costly or profuse, was 
covered with mould, and its lining consumed by moths. 
Another flight of steps led to the rooms above, which 
wore the same appearance as below. There was the 
great tall bedstead, the drapery still hanging upon it in 
lank folds, everything bearing evidence of being quit- 
ted hastily. 

Applegarth’s mind turned back and pictured the 
days when the house was inhabited by one belonging 
so intimately to his own history. 

Hearing the sound of approaching wheels he sought 
egress by the same way he had entered, and was just 
in time to catch the coach, and upon the following noon 
was deposited in London at the lodging house to which 
he had been recommended upon first arriving. 


ST. MAUK^ OR, AN EARL's WOOING. 85 

CHAPTER VI. 

BESSIE EGER TON. 

PON entering, Dr. Applegarth was met by a 



U sweet, pretty girl, not more than seventeen, with 
soft blue eyes and golden hair, her dress, though neat, 
was plain ; she held the door open for him, clearly hav- 
ing been watching and waiting his arrival. 

“ Well, Bessie, you see I am back, all right ! ’’ 

“ I am very glad, she replied ; “ I was afraid some- 
thing had happened, or you had lost your way in this 
strange country.” 

“ Oh no,” he laughed, “ I went to the place I told 
you of, and a gentleman was injured by an accident, so 
I staid to be of service. Has any one been to answer 
the note we left ? ” 

“No one, though a letter came by post. You will 
find it in your room. I suppose from that my uncle 
has not returned. I would have gone to inquire had I 
known the way, and Mrs. Glover offered to show me, 
but I would not put her to the trouble, thinking it best 
to await your return.” 

At this moment a stout woman advanced, and in a 
loud, good-natured voice cried, nodding her head 
toward the girl : “ She has done nothing but run to the 
door and window this last dozen hours, expecting you, 


86 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

and you can’t conceive how she’s been helping me. 
I’ve been keeping such a house as this, here, there and 
everywhere, these twenty years, but in all that time I 
never came across a body who could make herself so 
useful; why, she’s worth her weight in gold. First in 
the parlors, then fixing up the rooms, until the house 
looks like a different place.” 

‘‘Mrs. Glover is giving me more praise,” said the 
person spoken of, “than I deserve; I have done noth- 
ing more than accustomed to in America, where we are 
inured to greater hardships, and I have never been 
used to idleness.” 

“I am sure Mrs. Glover is right,” said Applegarth, 
“for I never saw a more industrious little body, even 
in the States, unless it was your sister.” 

The mention of her family brought back a flood of 
recollections, as she said, the tears coming to her eyes: 

“I wonder how they all are, and what they are doing. 
To be brought up as poor as we, and with a large 
family, is enough to make one exert their energies to 
the utmost.” 

“You will think no more of that,” said her protec- 
tor. “Some of these days your uncle will make a 
grand lady of you, and then you will forget America 
and all of us.” 

“Never! never!” she cried, the tears starting down 
her cheeks. “I can never forget my home, cheerless 
as it was, and mamma, who loved us so dearly.” Here 
she could not restrain her sobs. Applegarth took her 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 87 


hand tenderly in his, as though she were the child he 
considered her, and tried to assuage her grief. 

In a moment she was self-possessed, a strong resolu- 
tion coming to her aid, and resuming her natural man- 
ner, retreated with the landlady, to forget, as she had 
often done before, mental sorrow in manual labor. 

Proceeding to his room, Applegarth found the letter, 
which read as follows : 

Scotland, . 

“ Rufus Applegarth^ Esq. : 

“ Dear Sir: Your note was forwarded acquainting 
me of the arrival of my niece under your protection. 
Mrs. Cashbid, thinking — going, going — the trip would 
be some relief to the monotony of city life, accompa- 
nied me here, where I am correcting the catalogue 
— going, going — (articles having been disposed of 
at private sale since its completion, which, I must say, 
I strenuously object to) of the late Lord Plimsommons’ 
effects — going, going — which are to be sold upon 
Wednesday next. After that I shall return. If you 
will continue my niece under your charge — going, 
going — until that time, as we have given our domestics 
leave of absence, you will greatly oblige me. With 
my own and — go — go — Mrs. Cashbid’s love to our 
niece, and thanks to yourself, 

“ I am, yours truly, 

“Going, going, gone, 

“ Castor Cashbid.” 


88 ST. MAUR; ORj an earl’s wooing. 

Rufus Applegarth read and re-read this strange epis- 
tle, but was at loss to account for the interjection of 
“going, going,” and “gone,” presuming the auctioneer 
had written hastily in the midst of crying bids, but upon 
his further acquaintance with that gentleman the mat- 
ter became quite intelligible. 

Mr. Cashbid had started in life as an auctioneer’s 
office boy, risen to clerk, and lastly set up for himself, 
finally becoming the most noted as well as wealthiest 
auctioneer of his day.*" Mr. Cashbid’s mouth and lips 
were formed for calling bids and — for nothing else. 
It was asserted they had grown into that shape from 
constant practice, into the same shape as the sounds of 
the words. His whole heart and soul were engrossed 
in his business, to the exclusion of everything but Mrs. 
Cashbid, and this exception was anytliing but his own 
fault. That lady had constantly and incessantly re- 
minded him of her existence, until she was emphatically 
stamped upon his recollection. 

He invested his gains, not caring particularly for the 
money, but because it was there^ habit having taught 
him not to spend, and to invest it was the only alterna- 
tive. His wife was extravagant in dress only, and then 
not particularly to wear, but to put away, to be looked 
at, inspected, and fondly dwelt over. Not close, for 
for he was neither mean nor generops, never giving and 
never taking more than he \yas scrupulously entitled 
to, his business was his one pride, his one joy. Never 
so happy as when selling, and when not selling, only 
beatified in the thought of a coming sale. 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 89 


Mr. Cashbid never talked about his own money, 
never talked about other people’s, except in the way of 
values, unless to slap his customers on the back and 
tell them in a jolly manner how rich they were, albeit 
he might be knocking down their last article of value. 

The auctioneer’s greatest curiosity, or eccentricity, 
was in his repetition aloud of supposed bids, at a mythi- 
cal sale. Whilst conversing upon dull subjects — for 
all subjects were flat to him except the material one — 
his whole countenance would suddenly lighten up and 
he would mechanically exclaim, “ going, going, gone ! ” 
After dinner, in an easy chair, reading the evening 
sheet, with his feet stretched upon the fender, the same 
spasmodic expression would And vent. His lady, years 
before, had provided separate apartments, for her spouse 
kept up his awkward habit even when asleep ; he might 
be snoring loudly, when suddenly springing erect, he 
would call out in a high key, “going, going, gone,” 
and would as suddenly sink back and resume his 
natural slumbers as though never interrupted. 

It had grown upon him slowly, but now it entered 
into every movement. He was perfectly unconscious, 
and at last not only did he make use of it in conversa- 
tion, but inserted it in notes, letters and bills. Upon 
one occasion, one being returned and explanation 
requested, he was shocked, and exclaimed: “Why, 
bless my soul, is this mine? — going, going” — and, 
attempting to correct, made matters worse by adding 
more of the objectionable expressions, until both 


90 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

liimself and correspondent were lost in a maze of — 
going, going, gones.” 

Mr. Cashbid’s maternal parent had been twice mar- 
ried — first to a poor gentleman, next to a well-to-do 
merchant — the result of which was he had a half 
brother by the first marriage, the father of Bessie, wlio 
had emigrated to America and there died, leaving an 
industrious widow and an only daughter. The widow 
mated a second time to neither a richer nor better man, 
who gently departed, leaving her a large household to 
provide for. She had frequently heard her first hus- 
band, Mr. Egerton, speak of his half brother, but was 
in ignorance of his whereabouts, or fortune, as the 
letters written to the old address were never answered, 
and the last returned from the post marked “not 
found.” 

When the young physician became appointed surgeon 
in charge of the hands employed upon certain extensive 
public improvements, circumstances led him to seek a 
temporary home in this family, whom he found, with 
the strictest economy, could barely maintain themselves 
in a state of more than respectability. In looking after 
his own search and inquiries, he discovered the name 
of Castor Cashbid in a Business Directory, and it was 
by his advice that Bessie’s mother undertook to renew 
the former fruitless correspondence. 

This last communication, which rehearsed the cir- 
cumstances and poverty of her family,* met with a 
speedy response, declaring unconsciousness of Mr. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


91 


Cashbid’s late brother’s letters and life, and offering, as 
be was childless, that Bessie should be sent to England, 
and they would adopt her as their own offspring, 
enclosing funds for that purpose, besides quite a 
handsome douceur for the widow; at the same time 
intimating plainly, that “the rest” being of no kin, 
he hardly thought called upon to further interest him- 
self in the matter. This arrangement detained Rufus 
Applegarth longer in America than his appointed time, 
and it was for these reasons that Bessie Egerton had 
crossed the ocean with him and was now in London. 


92 


ST. maur; OR; AN earl’s wooing. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE AUCTIONEER. 

S EVERAL days latter, Applegarth procured a cab 
for the purpose of conveying Bessie to her uncle’s 
domicile. That young lady had repacked her not 
extensive wardrobe, and stood ready for departure, 
though it must be confessed not only loth to leave her 
present quarters, but still more to separate from her 
protector, who was the single link left of associations 
with her own family and country. 

Hastily descending the stairs, the surgeon found his 
prot<^g^e and the mistress of the house affectionately 
taking leave, for she had endeared herself to those with 
whom she had been recently thrown ; and the landlady, 
by dint of answers to a thousand questions, had dis- 
covered that Bessie was a relation , of Mr. Cashbid, 
and was going there, perhaps with expectations, though 
stoutly denied, over and over again, by the girl ; yet 
Mrs. Glover would not listen to such denials, and Bessie 
had grown to be of vast importance in the eyes of that 
lady, who was aware of the Auctioneer’s wealth and also 
knew him, for at sales had he not cried out, drawing 
every eye upon her: “Now, Mrs. G., here is just the 
thing you want,” (a fine marble centre table, Brussels 
carpet, or pair of curtains, as the case might be), “almost 


ST. MAUR; ORj AN EARL’s WOOING. 93 

new, the very article for your parlor front; why 
Madame, when inquiries are made for lodgings, and 
the parties see this — and observe it they must and will — 
your fortune’s made. They’ll never turn from a house 
Avith such furniture, going — going — gone,” and the 
poor woman, flattered by this public recognition and 
complimentary remarks, would meekly pay, thankful 
for the privilege of such distinction and notoriety. 

“ I shall come and see you. Miss Egerton, never fear, 
if they’ll let me in, but la! I don’t suppose they’ll let the 
likes o’ me in, for you see people’s very different at 
their place of business, from what they are at home.” 

“ Oh, but I’m sure they won’t object, and I will run 
around here and see if I may not be able to help you 
make dessert, or sweet bread for tea.” 

“ Well child I shan’t forget you, and if you should 
stand in need of advice, or a friend, though it may be 
a poor one, just call on Mary Ann Glover, and depend 
on her a cornin’, if such a thing be possible.” 

“ Dear Mrs. Glover, it is kind of you to speak so, I 
know you mean it, and I have been very fortunate to 
make such a friend.” 

“ Friend ! you’ve made everybody your friend ; now 
there’s old Mr. Smiles in 35, whose linen you fixed up 
so nicely, he says to me this very morning, ‘ Mrs. Glover,’ 
says he, ‘she ain’t agoin’?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ I says, ‘she’s 
agoin’ this very day,’ and ‘where s she agoin’, Mrs. 
Glover ? ’ ‘ She’s agoin’ to her uncle’s, Mr. Cashbid’s, 

sir.’ ‘Her uncle’s, Mr. Cashbid’s!’ ‘Yes, sir,’ says I, 


94 


ST. MAUR ; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING 


‘ there’s just where she’s agoin’,’ and you ought to see 
how hard he looked at me, and he turned round and 
took up his hat and pulled out his handkercher and 
would you believe it, wiped his forehead and his eyes ; 
my dear, there warn’t no dust blowin’ and it wasn’t hot 
either, and my dear, I saw him a wipin’ of his forehead 
and eyes for half a square. I do believe he’s in love 
with you.” 

“ You shouldn’t speak so, Mrs. Glover. I dare say the 
old gentleman has forgotten me by this time, and surely 
could never feel distressed on my account, as I don’t 
suppose he’s said half a dozen words to me since I’ve 
been here, except to thank me for repairing his ward- 
robe, which I must say, was in a terrible condition. He 
is a kind-hearted old gentleman, and told me he had 
no kith or kin.” 

“My dear, we all love you. I didn’t think I could 
take to a person so quick as I have to you, but old Mr. 
Smiles, I’ve seen him a watching you out of the corner 
of his eye. He’s a queer customer ; he’s been with me 
these eighteen years and better, a movin’ with me five 
times, and he does the same thing to-day he did the first 
day and every day since he came, goes out in the mornin’s 
and comes back to dinner ; goes out after dinner and 
comes back at eleven o’clock precisely. Day in and 
night out, it’s the same thing. He’s in some great 
agent’s or lawyer’s office, and they say kept on short 
salary and long hours. I don’ know, he always pays me 
promptly to the very day and at the same hour, which 
is after his chop o’ Monday mornin’s.” 


ST. MAUR; AN EARLS WOOING. 


95 


“ I am afraid, Mrs. Glover, you have arrayed poor Mr. 
Smiles in a much more romantic garb than he is entitled 
to, or desires to affect.” 

“ Well, my dear, you see you are young yet and don't 
know men’s ways. I was married when I was eighteen, 
and bless your soul, when Glover was courtin’ me, that’s 
just the way he did, watchin’ me nigh all the time. If 
I went out he was looking at me, if I came in he was 
a staring at me all the time. La, child ! therrCs the sort 
that kills theirselves for love. Listen,” and she went 
closer to Bessie, “ Glover killed hisself because he was 
jealous, (the coroner’s jury gave verdict of delirium 
tremens) but,” with a very emphatic shake of the 
head, “ there was no cause for it. It sort o’ chilled me 
for a while, but I got over it, my dear. A lone woman 
who has to get along and help others besides, soon gets 
over them sort of things. But men’s all alike, high or 
low, rich or poor, it’s the women that’s different.” 

‘‘ I am sure I’m sorr}^ for all your troubles, my dear 
Mrs. Glover, but in regard to Mr. Smiles, you can rest 
satisfied, his heart is whole ; and now I must say good 

by.” 

With this the landlady, passing fair, very fat and 
over forty, encompassed Bessie in a good tight hug, and 
after one or two loud smacking kisses, released her, and 
with the corners of her apron to her eyes, stood as 
disconsolate as if she were losing for ever her very 
best friend, instead of parting from a newly-made 
acquaintance. 


96 ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 

The cab stopped, and its occupants were put down 
in front of a comfortable though not pretentious 
dwelling in the vicinity of Forrest Square. 

There was nothing grand-looking about the establish- 
ment. It resembled the owner — solid, plain and sub- 
stantial. They were ushered into a library, or recep- 
tion room. Here were book cases filled with hand- 
somely bound volumes of all sizes and descriptions, 
clearly but seldom touched, for neither Mr. Cashbid or 
lady indulged in literature ; in fact it was doubtful if 
they read anything except the newspapers, and these 
were devoured — titles, court circulars, advertisements, 
and all. Pretty vases, small statuary, and inlaid furni- 
ture were scattered promiscuously throughout the house, 
the result and advantage of selections from sales, upon 
the principles of “ first come, first served,” and as the 
auctioneer was the first to view the goods, he took 
excellent care to have the first choice. His horses and 
carriage were of this class, and the same principle insin- 
uated itself into the wine cellar, where could be found 
excellent brands selected from many an aristocratic 
epicure’s estate. 

They had not waited long before Mr. and Mrs. Cash- 
bid simultaneously made their appearance ; the gentle- 
man’s legs were in advance, but as his better half had 
the advantage in height and her head projected eagerly 
over and beyond his shoulders, it is doubtful which 
entered first. 

Mr. Cashbid halted a second, (bringing on an 


ST. MAUK; ORy an EAKL’s WOOING. 97 

awkward collision with the train in the rear,) for the 
purpose of surveying both parties, especially the future 
addition to his household. He believed himself a 
thorough judge of character at first sight, and never lost 
an opportunity of making a well-defined observation. 

At present from his demeanor he was evidently satis- 
fied with the scrutiny. Mr. Cashbid was altogether a 
jolly-looking sort of person, quite stout, about the 
medium height, with red face, gray whiskers, and a 
mouth such as has been described. 

“Dr. Applegarth,” he said, coming forward, “I have 
to thank you for taking a great deal of trouble ; but 
business, sir, business you know, brooks no delay, 
going — going — and this is my niece ! Let me see,” 
holding her off a little, “ yes, yes, resembles her father. 
Give me a kiss, my dear, for we must be fast friends, 
and here is your aunt.” 

This last advanced in the same manner and was 
evidently, like her husband, much pleased with her 
niece’s appearance. 

“ Dr. Applegarth,” continued the auctioneer, after a 
proper degree of fuss, affection, and salutation upon 
the part of the relatives had been gone through, “I 
must thank you again for your kindness in this matter, 
and as we dine at seven, within which it is a few min- 
utes of now, I must really insist upon your staying; 
and besides, I want to hear something of America, for I 
hare an idea of going — going — going — there some- 
time in the future.” 

6 


98 ST. maur; or, ak earl’s wooing. 

“ I will accept of your kind invitation, he said reluct- 
antly,” for he deemed his mission and duty were ended, 
and would rather retire to his own thoughts and soli- 
tariness. “ But I can hardly summon an appetite, as 
Bessie and I have been keeping up our American habits 
and dining early.” 

“We call that lunch,” said the business man, “I 
take a pretty good bite myself at that hour just after 
morning trade, and yet I have an excellent renewed 
appetite by seven; so come, come, I will give you a 
good glass of sherry and some ‘fourteen’ claret, 
going — going.” Then turning to his wife who had 
assisted Bessie to divest herself of her w*raps, “ Take 
Bessie to her room and meet us at dinner ; hurry, for my 
hunger is sharp, though I can’t say I’m afraid of lessen- 
ing it by delay,” and taking his niece’s hand, “my 
little girl, you must make yourself perfectly at home, 
we have no children, you know, and Providence seems 
to have sent you to fill a want, which we never 
thought existed until now.” 

This was said in a feeling manner. He was not 
given to sentiment, but had correctly expressed the 
conclusion that himself and wife had come to. To be 
sure, he had consulted her in every arrangement and 
they had found a warmer feeling existing in their 
hearts than they had ever suspected. A something to 
live for ; an object where there had been a void, a sub- 
stratum bringing forward a quality which was there but 
dormant, showing the bright side of a hard-working. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 99 


money-making man, and from that hour a greater 
happiness came to Mr. and Mrs. Cashbid. 

They all dined heartily and cheerfully, and there was 
scarce a merrier little party for the time being 
assembled, than around that board; even Rufus Apple- 
garth forgot all but those present, and in genial con- 
versation with his host passed the hours pleasantly, 
until finding it late he had a cab called, and with a 
gentle word to Bessie and a hearty shake of the hand 
and going — going — gone from Mr. Cashbid, was 
driven off to his lodgings. 


100 ST. maur; or, ak earl's wooing. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE PAWNBROKER. 

I N one of those dirty, crooked streets or lanes, which 
have their commencement at the bank of the 
Thames and wind a tortuous wa}^ until finally lost in a 
labyrinth of alleys and courts ; where the buildings had 
been erected singly, and from time to time, so that no 
two were alike, all bearing evidence of that filth and 
dirt which characterized the inhabitants, composed 
mostly of those classes who follow the water for a 
livelihood ; at the central turn of an elbow in one of 
these ways, where its front could be seen for the space 
of a square upon either side, standing prominently to 
view, was a dingy two-story house. Prominent, besides 
its position, for the reason that upon a three-pronged 
iron rod projecting above the door were suspended 
what once were two gilt balls ; the gilt had certainly 
disappeared, as clearly had a third ball also, for there 
was the protruding prong, which could have been 
intended for no other purpose useful or ornamental. 
Though the gilding had disappeared, here and there 
could still be detected traces of it — a black, yellowish 
hue having usurped its place. 

These signs and symbols, together with a line inserted 
weekly in a third rate newspaper, informed the public. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 101 


(though it could have been intended for no other 
public than the denizens of that immediate locality,) 
“that Moses Mosler and Brother would be happy to 
advance money upon any articles according to their 
value, that might be left with them.” A pair of strong 
double doors flanked with wide windows upon either side 
admitted both ingress and light ; these openings above 
and below were guarded by wire grating as if the pres- 
ent, or original occupant had not trusted too much to 
the honesty, or good intentions of his neighbors. The 
entrance was usually closed, and at night required a 
summons to gain admission, when it would be partially^ 
opened, a fastened chain upon the inside preventing 
the further intrusion of an unexpected, or unwelcome 
visitor. 

There was no concealment or privacy about the 
patrons of this money-loaning institution, as many cus- 
tomers applying in the broad light of day as after the 
evening shadows had shut the sunlight out. Neither 
was there any privacy within, for the lower floor con- 
sisted of one large room which bore testimony of 
having been at a former period divided into smaller 
compartments, for the places where the partitions had 
been torn away, upon the ceiling and floor, were left 
unplastered and uncovered. A depression, or step 
downward, about midway of the floor divided the house- 
hold department from the business portion. In this 
last division were a dilapidated stove, a deal table, and 
a cupboard containing a meagre larder and sparse table, 
and kitchen utensils. 


102 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

Around the walls, except in one corner, where 
ascended a rickety flight of steps to the apology for 
sleeping accommodations, were innumerable open boxes, 
closed pigeon-holes, and coarse chests, each having an 
almost unintelligible or nearly obliterated number, and 
all filled with divers articles — here a well-worn coat, 
there a half- made dress, whilst the gaudy tinsel of 
variety-show costumes loomed up in dingy places. 

There was also a well scarred, defaced counter, with 
innumerable small drawers behind, which whole ar- 
rangement, judging from appearances, had probably 
come from the constable’s sale of an apothecary’s 
fixtures. These had locks upon them, and were, no 
doubt, intended for more important articles, of lesser 
bulk and greater value. There was an account book, 
pen and sloppy inkstand near at hand, besides some 
soiled, yellow, spotted paper, which must have been 
purchased for a considerable less than cost of manufac- 
ture, by reason of damage. 

Near to one of the apertures, occasionally peering out 
into the fast descending darkness, and restlessly pacing 
up and down, was an old man with flowing hair, inces- 
santly stroking a long beard — both hair and beard 
were nominally white, though soiled and matted by 
want of care and cleanliness. 

There could be no mistaking the features, form and 
dress, to classify him otherwise than a descendant of 
Israel, and, from the surroundings, no question of his 
t profession. “ Dan’l ’s late, always late,” he muttered, 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 103 


pettishly, angrily clinching the unoccupied hand, thrust 
deep into the pocket of his long, greasy garments, 
grimy with dust and age. “The rascal is getting 
beyond me; knows too much. I wish I could 
do without him — without any body. I tried that; 
can’t get along ; ” shaking his head negatively. “ Let 
me see; why, Dan’l’s most a man; ten years since 
Squint first brought him. How time flies,” he still 
soliloquized; “twenty years ago I was new here 
myself, and who would know me now? none” — glanc- 
ing round nervously, startled by his own thoughts. 
“ But I ’m getting gold, gold ! yes, gold in plenty, and 
will soon have enough to begin with ; ” and louder, as 
if impossible to restrain his exultant feelings : “ then I ’ll 
break every pool and bank that holds a pound ! I ’ll 
break them all I ” he cried, between his clinched teeth, 
and relapsing into his low cunning undertone: “I 
know a sj^stem that must succeed, must win ! All that 
I want is sufficient to begin, and — lose 1 Yes ; I must 
lose for a certain time — then win ! win forever ! 

“ I ’ve worked it out ; I know the scheme ; let me 
get but the first sum. It’s large, very large, but not 
too great for the return, and I ’ve nearly saved, almost 
got it. Plenty of time yet ; I’m not old ! Oh, no ! I’m 
not old ! I’m good for four-score and ten, and a dozen 
years to follow — then wealth and fame unbounded. 
Gold, gold ! ” and savagely, “ vengeance, too ! cau- 
tiously, though. Cautiously, ‘slow, but sure.’ I’ll 
make him feel my sting yet, though I died for it. 


104 ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 

I’ll bring him down low, I’ll make him suffer, I’ll 
crush him — curse him— as a bauble between my fists; ” 
and he pressed his fingers together as if his enemy 
were there. “ But here comes Dan’l — so — so — softly 

— softly. 

“ Dan’l, you’ve been lounging ; you’re late ; but, come, 
come, I will not bring you, as your great namesake, 
unto a second judgment, though my judgment is very 
good, especially in regard to the value of old clothes 
and plated jewelry ; and — and the interest, not usury 

— not usury, but interest we ought to receive for the 
gold — for the bright gold! together with any little 
trouble in the matter. Eh I Dan’l ; eh I Dan’l, boy ; ” 
and he rolled his palms over each other, his hollow, 
bent sides shaking with simulated mirth at his own wit, 
but ending in a fit of short, jerky coughing, which 
when over, he exclaimed, as if suddenly recollecting : 

“ Did you find the place ? ” 

“ I found it ; couldn’t miss it well ; too big and ’and- 
some. They says as how the folks will come in to stay 
awhile — fixin’ up for em now,” replied the boy, or 
rather, young man, as his employer and master had 
characterized him. He was a stubby -made youth, 
remarkable for nothing in particular, except a shock 
of fiery-red hair, and an extremely unsophisticated and 
innocent expression, which his actual knowledge of evil 
largely gainsay ed. 

“ Handsome, is it?” grunted the Jew; “I’ll make it 
handsome for them. Give me time, just a little time ; 
I ’ll make it — What did Squint say ? ” 


ST. MAUK; OR, AN EARl’s WOOING. 105 


“ Wants you to come round after a bit. Says he 
can’t get out to-night.” 

“Been drunk, I suppose,” grunted the old man. 
“Wants me to come there, where his she hag of a 
wife will be listening to all we say.” Then speaking 
in affected sympathy : “ I suppose you saw your poor 
little sister, and told her all your hardships and how 
you are overworked, and any little secrets in the 
business you happen to come across?” 

“ I seed her,” replied the boy, curtly. 

“ Who else did you see ? ” 

“ No body, as I knows on.” 

“You are lying, sir!” cried the old man, extremely 
irritated. “ I saw you talking to some one at the 
corner. You think I can’t see, eh? Who was it?” 

“I rec’lects now. I believe I did drop a word to 
Slummer’s Dick.” 

“ Ah, ha ! you’ve been making new acquaintances, 
have you ? ” cried he of the Lombard arms. “ Slum- 
mer’s Dick, that ’s who it is. I ’ve seen you with him 
before. You mean the pot boy at the corner groggery,” 
he wound up, contemptuously. 

“ He waits on Mr. Slummer’s customers,” returned 
the boy, doggedly, as if to resent any indignity cast 
upon his friend. His demeanor was not timid as he 
leant lazily against the much mutilated counter. 

“ Slummer’s Dick, indeed,” repeated the old man, 
scornfully ; “ and so he ’s your boon companion. Well, 
keep on with him. He ’ll be hanged some day, and so 
will you too, if your intimacy continues so long.” 


106 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

« Mr. Slummer says as how he ’s a wery good boy, 
and he’d like to have me along of him. He says I 
were jest made for that business and oughtenter stay 
here any longer, and he ’d give me good wages.” 

“And who told you all this?” inquired the other, 
not trying to conceal his rising ire. 

The boy was obstinately silent. 

“ Who told you ? ” cried the old man, again. I ’ll be 
bound, Slummer never said it himself.” 

“ Dick told me he said it, if yer wants to know.” 

“ He told you ? ” yelled the old man ; “ did he tell 
you anything else? Out with it — out with it, I say, 
or I ’ll ” and he raised his hand menacingly. 

“ Yes ; he told me as how you were an old skinflint, 
and the perlice would come, if the devil didn’t, and 
ketch you some day,” returned the boy, maliciously, 
straightening up deflantly as though preparing for 
battle royal. 

The old man appeared dumbfounded. This was not 
secret, nor covert, but open rebellion, promising to be 
revolution. Besides, he feared the enemy. He could 
not, however, control the too willing muscles of his 
arm, and it was about to descend with force upon 
Dan’l’s cranium, when that youth turned it aside, 
saying: 

“ Look here, you ain’t a goin’ to beat me ; I ’ve had 
’nough that sort o’ thing. I don’t w^ant to hurt you, 
but keep yer hands off. Yer old and I wont strike 
unless yer hits me furst. Yer shant beat me, an’ now 
yer knows it ; so hands off, I say ! ” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL's WOOING. 107 


If the old man was dumbfounded before, conster- 
nation seized him now, and exclaiming as the only 
explanation to be rendered for the other’s ferocious 
conduct : 

“ Dan’l, you ’ve been drinking.” And in connection 
with this supposition, strategy came to his support, and 
he whined : 

“ Why Dan’l, you know I wouldn’t hurt you for the 
world. Haven’t I brought you up ? Didn’t I take you 
out of the work-house, and didn’t Mr. Squint take your 
sister ? Think where you would be if it hadn’t been 
for me. Oh, how ungrateful you are ! and do not I let 
you go to the theatre every night, and give you six- 
pence at the end of the week ? Oh I the ingratitude, 
the terrible ingratitude of this world ! ” and he cast his 
eyes sanctimoniously upward, entirely obscuring the 
pupils, giving to his face not a mortal but satanic look. 

“ Stalker pays you fo’pence a night for me, and you 
gives me sixpence at the end o’ the week,” replied the 
boy, lowering his arms, partly though not yet quite 
mollified by the other’s changed mood. “ That ’s mor ’n 
’alf for you, an’ a ‘ bit ’ for me. But I aint a com- 
plainin’ about that ; I aint a complainin’ no how. I 
knows where my bed is, and I knows where my board 
is, and I don’t mind the biziness ; but you musn’t try 
ter beat me no more. I can’t stand that and I wont.” 

“ Oh ! Dan’l, Dan’l ! ” and the feigned tears appar- 
ently came to the other’s eyes. “ You, whom I have so 
cared for, to turn against and wish to leave me. I 
never would have thought,it.” 


108 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

I didn’t want ter hurt yer feelin’s,” said the youth, 
now wholly pacified, and completely taken aback by 
this mild, unexpected ’behavior, and with faint visions 
of an heir apparency to the shop and contents, “ so you 
needn’t grieve over it. I axes yer parding.” 

“ Oh I Dan’l, Dan’l ! you gladden my heart. Now 
you are the same good boy you have ever been.” But 
there was a speech the sensations called forth by which 
although momentarily repressed, yet rankled in the 
Jew’s heart, and he could no longer control a fresh 
outbreak. 

“ And so Slummer’s Dick says I ’m old, does he ? 
He lies ! the rascal lies ! Look at my hands, are they 
old? Look at my feet, are they old? Can he run 
faster than I ? can he jump higher than that ? ” And 
he leaped upward with a sudden bound, which had the 
effect to put Dan’l again on his guard; but seeing it 
was only intended as an exposition, a grinning expres- 
sion of wonder, more than admiration, covered his dull 
features. 

“ What can he do that I can’t ? ” kept on the aged 
sinner, his eyes blazing with angry excitement. “ He 
says I ’m old, does he ? Ah ! I wish I had him here, 
I ’d show him how old I am ! ” and he ground his teeth 
and clinched his fists. “ But go, get your supper ; 
you ’re hungry, I suppose ; you are always late and 
always hungry. I’ll have to starve myself yet to 
satisfy your gluttonous appetite. Eat, but be a better 
boy hereafter.” Winding up in an ameliorated tone. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 109 


“ There ’s no use in begrudging my wittles,” pro- 
tested the lad, turning carelessly away, “as I enjoys 
’em all the same, and as I cooks and waits for both 
parties, and does a heap o’ other things. I thinks as how 
I earns ’em, and is entitled to ’em.” And in a lower 
key, as he receded to the farther end of the culinary 
department: “Youwenomous ole wiper, I knows on 
some of yer tricks as you don’t think fur. I knows as 
who comes here with harticles as aint plated jewelry, 
nor old clothes neither, and such brings ’em as hasn’t 
got the money to buy ’em with neither. Oh ! I knows 
a thing or two. Well, well, he ’s been good to me, if 
that’s what he calls it, tho’ it’s a bad sort o’ good- 
ness ; so here goes fur the “inner man,” as they says at 
Stalker’s, which indiwidual is just at present werry 
much dug out. I wonder if the ole cuss bought any- 
thing while I was gone. I seed the cheesemonger as 
come along ahead of me ; maybe he got a third class 
shave, ‘ on’y a little spilt,’ from him.” 

He proceeded to lay on. the deal table a scanty meal 
for the twain, and without waiting, went hungrily, not 
to say greedily to work on the material before him. 

Presently the old man reappeared with a black, much 
battered hat, and stout walking-stick ; this last he de- 
posited in a corner, keeping the former on his head, 
and proceeded to draw some tea upon the stove, for 
this article was the only good one he indulged in, 
and was too precious to be entrusted to the keeping of 
the tardy, negligent Dan’l ; then sitting down, helped 


110 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

himself and the boy, upon which the latter, observing 
the tokens of a transitory migration, asked : 

“ Goin’ to lock up to-night ? ” 

“Yes; I am going to see Squint. There are no 
vessels arriving, and it wont matter much. If any- 
body comes, let them wait, or call again,” he growled. 

This was quite different from the usual course, for the 
proprietor was always on hand, except at stated inter- 
vals, when he deputized the boy with many and strict 
injunctions, so that Dan’l, astonished but glad of his 
exemption, said, glancing at a time-worn clock in 
motion among the many other silent ones : 

“ ’Most my time. Somethin’ new on the boards ; big 
run ! Stalker ’s makin’ lots o' tin.” 

“Better raise your wages then,” was the sarcastic 
retort. 

“Not much,” replied the boy; “he aint that sort. 
There ’s six o’ us, you know, at fo’pence a night.” 

“ And how much do you make outside ? ” 

“ Werry little,” rejoined the boy, looking uneasily at 
his patron, as though that odd sixpence might be in 
danger. “ Well, I ’m off, unless you wants me to close 
up first.” 

“ Never mind, I ’ll do that. You can go.” 

And so Daniel departed for Stalker’s — otherwise 
known as “ Stalker’s Varieties,” a theatre, dance and 
music hall — at odd times, as the seasons and public 
taste required, where with perhaps a half dozen others 
he was employed to hand the liquors and cigars to the 
somewhat promiscuous and questionable audience. 


ST. MAUR; OR^ AN EARl's ^"OOING. Ill 


After the boy had set out and his master finished 
sipping tea, he got up and took from the till or little 
drawer used for small change, several shillings and half 
crowns ; these, each and every, had a round hole 
punched through. No piece of copper, silver, or gold 
ever came into that receptacle, but ere it went out, 
that same hole was bored, possibly as a mark of future 
identification, more probably for the metal obtained 
from the coin. Taking several pieces he placed them 
loosely in his pocket, then picking up his walking stick, 
felt and examined it closely, falling into his half-aloud 
cogitations : 

“ It will do, it will do ; and so. Master Richard, I ’m 
old, am I? and you want to entice my servant from 
me ? If I’m old, I ought to have a long head on my 
shoulders, eh, Mr. Richard ? ” continuing to chuckle to 
himself; “and Master Daniel, I’ll consider your case 
too. The rascal knows too much — too much, I ’m 
afraid. He ’s been listening ! ” So saying, with muffled 
mutterings he went out, securing the house after him. 

Passing on over the narrow pavement, until coming 
to a wider street corner, where a blaze of light came 
from out the great glass windows of a tavern or beer 
shop, he paused to peer cautiously around, for it was 
seldom he ever ventured so far beyond his own 
domains, and this precautionary observance had grown 
to be a matter of second nature ; then pushing open 
the swinging door, entered. Scattered about were 
groups of men, talking, smoking and drinking. The 


112 ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 

old man saw this indistinctly as he advanced to a 
secluded and unoccupied seat, his attention being riv- 
eted upon a slim, slick-looking young man, with arms 
a-kimbo, resting his back lazily against the bar, his little 
bead-like eyes scanning about keenly to detect any 
signs or symptoms of' renewed want of refreshments, 
not however failing to take in the new comer; and so 
when the old man was seated and rapped with his stick 
vigorously upon the floor, the summons was speedily 
answered by the veritable “ Slummer’s Dick,” alias 
Richard Slummer, correctly Richard Fasting, who was 
too much astonished at the unusual apparition present- 
ing itself, to reply with his customary “ coming, coming, 
sir,” but looked at the pawnbroker with a vacant air 
of inquiry. 

“ Ah ! Richard, my good boy, is that you ? ” said the 
firm of Moses Mosler & Bro., for this individual alone 
constituted the fraternity singular and whole. “ You 
see, Richard, I know you. A young man of your brave 
and easy style cannot help attracting notice; but 
bring me a mug of beer, Richard ; a good mug, with 
the bead well on. Draw it yourself, Richard, I would 
rathet trust to your drawing, my lad.” 

“ That I will, sir,” cried the youth, agreeably sur- 
prised at these flattering remarks. “ It shall be run 
right, I promise you.” And returning to the bar with an 
additional air of importance, as though through his own 
fascination and instrumentalities, had been obtained a 
fresh customer for his employer, in which worthy’s 


ST. MAUK; OK, AN EAKL’s WOOING. 113 


opinion he must naturally hereafter be of greater con- 
sequence — and such a customer. 

There it is, sir, and couldn’t be set up better,” said 
Slummer’s Dick, as with a flourish he placed the foam- 
ing mug before his new customer, who remarked, 
insinuatingly : 

‘‘ Richard, I perceive you are a boy of flne character, 
to take so much interest in waiting upon an old man ; 
but never fear, attentions of this kind always meet 
with their reward.” 

Richard smirked and grinned. It gives me a heap 
of pleasure in waiting on a gentleman like you, sir, and 
I ’opes as you ’ll drop in hoften.” 

“ That depends, Richard; that depends. If you are 
always here to serve me, it will prove a great induce- 
ment. Dan’l — you know my Dan’l — gives excellent 
accounts of you.” 

“ Yes, sir, I knows Dan,” as if to say, who didn’t 
know Dan, “ an’ a good time he must ’ave of it too, as I 
allers tells him, with a situation at the V’ri’ties, where 
he can ’ave his fun and make a shillin’ too.” 

“ Does he make so much as a shilling, you think, 
Richard?” said the pawnbroker, nervously wriggling 
in his chair; “a shilling a night is a large sum at the 
end of the year.” 

Richard saw that he had^ divulged too much of his 
friend’s confldence, so quickly answered : “ Oh, no, 
not so much as that, I s’pose. I was only a speakin’ 
of what might be done by a lively, hactive boy, but 
7 


114 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

Dan’l he ’s so back’ard, and he ’s precious pertickler 
’onest.” 

Moses Hosier & Bro., had’ reason to think somewhat 
differently of this last, but said: “Dan’l’ s a fine boy, 
though not so smart and brisk as you, Richard. It 
wouldn’t do for me to have a lad like you ” — ^falling into 
a humorous mood — “ It wouldn’t do, Richard, to have 
such a good-looking, rakish fellow like you about me. I 
should be continually pestered by the lasses. I expect 
half of them about here are dying in love with you now. 
You handsome dog, you know it.” And he punched 
his cane into the ribs of Slummer’s Dick quite hilari- 
ously. That individual was only too ready and willing 
to acknowledge the soft impeachment by more smirks, 
smiles and grimaces. Here Slummer, who was draw- 
ing the beer for his fast coming in habituds, and being 
of the opinion that Richard had devoted time sufficient 
for even the most important personage, cried out from 
the ^r ; 

“ Dick, here, Dick, where in the world have you got 
to?” 

“ Coming, coming,” cried the lad, as he darted off, 
not however before first receiving an order from the 
Jew for another mug, besides having a couple of shil- 
lings slipped into his palm. 

As the boy departed, the old man looked at his stick 
as if the recent experiment with it was perfectly satis- 
factory; a gleam of malicious animosity crossing his 
features. 


ST. mauk; ok, an earl’s wooing. 115 


After a few seconds absence, the lad came back, and 
wiping off and adjusting the table and placing thereon 
the refilled glass, lingered a few moments to catch the 
dulcet words of flattery and adulation that might be in 
store. He was not long delayed or disappointed, for the 
old man, perhaps deeming his opportunity short, imme- 
diately reopened the conversation. 

“ Richard, I ’ve been observing you for some time ; 
but I ’ll be bound, you never suspected it, eh ? ” 

Richard professed profound but pleasing ignorance. 

“And you are worked hard — now don’t deceive me, 
for I have watched you ; isn’t it so ? ” pausing for a 
reply. 

“Well, sir, I don’t mind telling you; I is worked 
wery hard, and ’aven’t any time give me neither, and 
the wages is low. Slummer ’s wery close, he is.” 

“ That ’s what I ’ve been thinking. Dan’l has told 
me how bad you are treated, and it’s a shame — a real, 
right down shame ! that so fine a lad as you, and with 
such attractions, should be so confined and imposed 
upon. But J like you, Richard ; Fve taken a great 
fancy to you, and I intend to stop this. I mean you to 
do well; but you must not repeat this — mus’ent let it 
get to Slummer’s ears. No one must know it.” 

Dick was all attention and willing to comply with 
any promise. 

“ Well then, I have something good in store for you; 
but I can’t tell it here, it must be private, very private. 
What time do you get off to-night ? ” 


116 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ This is Saturday night, sir ; gets off at ten minutes 
past twelve o’clock — we close at twelve, sharp.” 

“ That will do. Can you meet me ? — and, by the 
way, Richard, here is half a sovereign for you. I told 
you I liked you,” and with a wave of his hand, “ never 
mind thanking me ; but could you not meet me to- 
night, just after twelve — say about three streets below 
and two to the right? You can? so much the better,” 
as the other eagerly gave an affirmative reply. 

“Well, I will be there, and tell you something 
greatly to your advantage ; but Slummer is calling, I 
will wait until you come back. You will be there 
punctual ? ” 

“ You may depend on my a-bein’ there, sir. I won’t 
disappoint you noways nor nohow. Cornin’, cornin’,” 
and the young man hastened off, his mind in a whirl of 
excitement at so much unexpected good fortune. He 
had never, in all his life, had so much money at one 
time. His spirits were in ecstacies ; he felt as treading 
on air, determined to be at the rendezvous at all and 
every hazard. These sensations were cooled, though 
not extinguished, by the sharp voice of Mr. Slummer. 

“ Dick ! Dick ! drat the boy. Don’t you hear the 
gents callin’. What are you doing over there so long? ” 

“ I was a waitin’ on a gentleman, Mr. Slummer, as I 
’opes to make a customer hof. He likes my waitin’ 
werry much, he says.” 

“ Likes your waitin ? The devil he does ! He comes 
because he knows the quality o’ the liquor and it’s 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 117 

’andy. There, git along with your conceit and take 
them mugs.” And whilst Richard was busily engaged 
attending to the requirements of his ojfifice and the 
pecuniary interests of the establishment, his new friend 
took the opportunity of quietly withdrawing. He had 
borrowed Richard’s knife, to pare his nails, he said, and 
now conveniently forgot to return it. A keen, sharp 
blade it had, like an Italian weapon. But its loss did 
not afford the youth the slightest uneasiness, if he 
thought of it at all, for he was anxiously counting the 
minutes until “ just after twelve.” 


118 ST. MAUR; OR; AN earl’s wooing. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THEOPHILUS SQUINT, ATTORNEY. 
HEN the pawnbroker reached the open street 



Y V he chuckled inwardly, as if in high favor with 
himself : “ The rascal ! I have him fixed now, I ’m old, 
am I ? and the police will come for me I We shall see. 
Master Richard — and the coin is marked — we shall 
see ! ” So repeating, he hastened onward at a shuffling 
gait, avoiding the more crowded thoroughfares, until 
coming to a retired, cleanly street, in a poor but respect- 
able portion of the city, where were a neat row of two- 
storied houses, generally denominated “ one-eyed,” for 
the reason of having but a single window in front, 
beside the entrance. A high, narrow stoop with an 
iron railing, led to a door with a well-rubbed brass 
plate, bearing in bold letters the name of “ Theophilus 
Squint,” or, sometimes called Thiefy, for shortness. 
He rapped on it, and a pale-faced maid answered the 
call. She was small, very small, even for her age, 
which could not have been more than twelve, or four- 
teen at most. Her features might have been called 
pretty, but for a pinched, drawn expression, and a tim- 
orous, cowed manner, as if afraid to speak above a 
breath, or in constant dread of being reprimanded for 
some word or act. This was Dan’l’s sister, and the 


ST. maue; or, an earl’s wooing. 119 


house, as the brass plate intimated, that of Theophilus 
Squint, in reality, as the door plate did not proclaim, 
that of Mrs. Squint. 

Mr. Squint was, or professed to be, an attorney; 
how, when or where he was called to the bar no one 
either thought nor cared to inquire. His practice was 
confined — very much confined — no one knew where 
his office was located, least of all his clients — for such 
he professed to have — and yet he was always to be 
found at, near or about the Inns of Court. 

Sufficient that Mr. Squint was an attorney, though 
his brothers of the profession — that is, the major, or 
better part of them — kept aloof from him ; and who- 
ever kept his company was instantly recognized as a 
person to be avoided by those who had character and 
reputation to sustain. 

The attorney had been intended for the ministry, 
but either his inclinations or acquirements had fallen 
far short of the goal, and he had taken to the law, also 
to drink, as well as other dubious practices. 

With slight cause this worthy’s wife had persuaded 
herself into the belief that she was a confirmed invalid. 
Mr. Squint had no objection to this state of affairs — 
though he more than suspected the truth — for it left 
his locomotion freer, when away from the home influ- 
ence, which, like all other surroundings in immediate 
contact with that power, was brought under complete 
subjection. The little maid who opened the door had 
felt this sway with terrific effect. Poor little Fan ! she 


120 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

could not speak above a whisper for fear of hurting 
her mistress’ nerves. This little household drudge had 
gone on in a continued state of trepidation and terror 
until her own nerves were wrought to such a pitch that 
the invalid’s sharp voice of reprimand acted upon them 
like the shock of a galvanic battery, so that when in a 
scarcely audible voice she answered the visitor’s inquiry 
of “whether her master was at home,” it is not sur- 
prising the question required repetition in a louder key, 
which startled the little maid almost out of her wits. 

“ Please, sir — yes, sir, master ’s home ; missus said 
as you was to be let in.” Then, half opening the door 
for the visitor’s ingress, she did not slam, but gently 
shut it to in the face of another personage, evidently 
a dun, who, having vainly tried every stratagem to gain 
admittance, now departed in disgust. The little ser- 
vant knew her place thoroughly, being as much as 
life was worth, however plausible the pretext, to let 
such in. 

The pawnbroker entered, not without misgivings, 
and, after divesting himself of hat and cloak, hesitated 
about his stick, exhibiting a reluctance to part with it, 
and finally retaining it, was introduced into the pres- 
ence of the attorney. 

“ Moses, is that you ? sit down,” said Mr. Squint, 
patronizingly, and without any further ceremony of 
welcome than a condescending wave of the hand. 
Tho old man complied, with a not very amiable sen- 
tence upon his lips, but spying the angle of a female 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARl’s WOOING. 121 


figure through the small folding doors that joined the 
two apartments, changed it into a courteous reply. 

At intervals in the daily grasping life of the pawn- 
broker, there were unmistakable gleams intimating a 
far different anterior spirit and sphere of life. 

“Well, my friend, is there anything I can do for 
you?” queried the lawyer in the same patronizing 
way. 

“ I have private matters of necessity,” glancing un- 
easily, motioning in the direction of the opening, “ and 
your movements being uncertain, I deemed it best to 
take you at your word, by my Dan’l, so as the mountain 
wouldn’t, or couldn’t come to Mahomet, he has to 
come to the mountain.” 

Squint looked warily at the objectionable doors, 
placed his finger upon his lips as a warning, and then 
rising, closed them with a deep apology, and slirill 
rebuke from within. At once the demeanor of both 
men changed. There were short statements and quick 
replies, with growling and snarling on both sides. 

“ I tell you it can be done,” said the client, emphati- 
cally. 

“ And I tell you I ’m not going to join in any such 
business,” came with a shade less of emphasis from the 
other side, as though open to conviction. “I don’t 
mind most things, but I know what the law terms a 
conspiracy, and I know the penalty.” 

“ You are a coward. I’ve known you to do worse 
things.” 


122 ST. MAUK; OR^ AN EARL’s WOOING. 

‘‘Slowly, not so fast, my friend. This is a little 
beyond my venture. But what is your scheme ? repeat 
it — there — not so loudly.” 

“ They are coming to the city soon ; I found that out 
to-day.” Then, branching off, “ it will require a trip 
to Paris. Ha ! Squint, that will suit you, eh ! It must 
be done soon ; the train must be properly laid ; no lag- 
ging. As for the widow, we can personate her, can’t 
we. Ha! ha! ha!” 

“Come, come,” said the lawyer, “and be a little 
more explicit. This is no time to laugh.” 

“ Bah ! I never felt in a better humor in my life,” 
chuckled the pawnbroker, still more merrily. 

“ Stop all this nonsense, and talk seriously, or I’ll 
have nothing to do with it. I’d like to know where all 
the money’s to come from, unless, ‘ sneeringly,’ your 
generous coffers are to furnish it, which would be a 
most exceptionable rule to your ordinary close-fisted- 
ness ; I presume you have weighed all these things well. 
People can’t go to Paris for nothing.” 

“ Money ! always money ! ” snarled the other. “ I 
suppose you have conveniently forgotten the little sum 
betwixt us. A slight debt of gratitude let’s call it ; a 
trivial matter, which need not be returned with inter- 
est, you know, and maybe something less than the 
principal.” 

“Curse your impudence! If I’d known j’ou were 
coming to dun ” cried the irate attorney. 

“ Stop, stop ; don’t get angry. There’s no necessity. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 123 


Let the little matter between us rest, for the present. 
Listen, I have a project that will work. He ! he ! stop, 
stop,” holding up his hand deprecatingly. “I’ll tell 
you ! I will make the enemy furnish the wherewithal ^ 
to prosecute the campaign.” 

“ The Devil we will ! I might have sworn that it 
wouldn’t come from you. Go on ; don’t poke along so 
slowly. Come to the point.” 

“ They are coming to town, as I told you,” said the 
other, more steadily. “ Sir John never allows mention 
of his brother’s name in the household, and has been 
much depressed since his death, but still never permits 
allusion to the forbidden subject.” 

“ You cunning old rascal, and how did you find out 
all that?” 

“I have it from Rosey — from Rosey of the Varieties, 
you know, you seen her — the daughter of the Went- 
worth Innkeeper. She has a sister with whom she 
keeps up regular but clandestine communication, for 
the country lassie’s character must not be smirched by 
contact. Dolly, this sister, is intimate with the house- 
keeper at Carleton Park, and is quite voluble in her 
information when properly led, and — and this is one of 
my channels.” 

“ What put all this into your head ? ” said the lawyer. 

“ Is it gain, or something else hidden away ? ” continu- 
ing in a lighter vein; “Well, it’s not my province to 
inquire, and I think the idea is excellent, and, with 
certain contingent circumstances, will probably succeed. 


124 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


But we must not commit ourselves absolutely, at 
least, I must not. How are ‘the enemy’ to supply 
the exchequer ? ” 

“In this way,” said the old man, “we’ll work upon 
the young lady’s tender feelings. Leave that to me, 
and don’t peer too narrowly into the course I may pur- 
sue, since you have doubts and misgivings of your 
personal safety.” 

“ Enough ! enough ! I’m satisfied,” cried the other, 
seeing the ill effects of his former animadversion, and 
well pleased at the glittering prospects offered to view. 
“ I care not for your motive ; so let’s to work.” 

Writing materials were now produced, and the two 
worthies laid their heads together. The outcome 
thereof was the production of a neatly composed letter 
in imitation of a female’s hand. Squint was an excel- 
lent penman and copyist. Indeed, this unenviable 
acquirement had got him into notoriety and misfortune 
before now. Both parties were highly satisfied with 
their several allotted tasks, which, by all rules of cal- 
culation, were to redound to their mutual advantage, 
and after some further deliberation and adjustment of 
details, the pawnbroker carefully placed the directed 
missive in a secure receptacle and sallied forth. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 125 


CHAPTER. X. 

Richard’s discomfiture. 

r'piIE pawnbroker paused for a moment under a hair- 
JL dresser’s window ; the man had counted out his 
change, a good ending for the week’s work, and was at 
the point of extinguishing the lights and putting up 
the shutters, delaying in his task to allow the passer 
to examine the time. 

“ Hi ! Hi ! ” exclaimed the old man, as pulling out a 
silver watch, a former pledge (not of affection) and 
seeing the hour : “ Hi, Hi, so late ! I thought I should 
have to wait past twelve.” Coming to a dreary local- 
ity, he peered anxiously around, and catching sight of 
Slummer’s Dick beneath the shadow of a lamp, cried, 
in a confidential tone, “ Richard ! Richard.” 

“ Here I am,” returned the lad in a reciprocal voice, 
and advancing. 

“ Richard, I perceive you are punctual, I like prompt- 
ness. Let us find a more quiet spot so we can converse 
to better advantage without fear of interruption, ah; 
here is a fit place,” and, retreating a few yards, he 
entered a low dingy court with narrow outlet, into 
which scarce a ray of light penetrated. 

“ What noise is that ? ” said the old man. 

“Nothing but a cab, sir, there’s no one hereabouts 
this time o’ night,” replied the youth. 


126 ST. mauk; ok, an earl’s wooing. 

“Are you sure, Richard? Just peep out to make 
certain.” 

Richard turned, projecting his head and neck beyond 
the enclosure ; but that turn and espial were wrought . 
with the direst consequences for him. Before the lad 
was aware of any fell design, he received a tremendous 
blow on the nape of the neck from the stout stick 
nimbly wielded by his treacherous friend. Again and 
again the blows descended in rapid succession on the 
head, back and shoulders, whilst with every stroke to 
give it greater force, as he danced about his victim, 
the old wretch would exclaim, “ I’m old am I ? You 
underpaid, overworked scoundrel. The police will 
catch me, eh, will they?” These expressions were 
mingled with interjections yelled at the top of his 
voice, “murder! watch! help! help! murder! watch!” 
not failing to jerk the coins — previously placed there — 
from his pocket, scattering them upon the ground ; then 
last but not least threw down the knife borrowed from 
his dupe, the blade open, having managed to prick his 
hand with it — making this as well as the money a 
sacrifice for the end in view. 

Stunned and wholly discomfited at the sudden and 
unexpectedness of the onset, Richard was too confused 
either to guard against, or repel the attack ; and by the 
time he had gotten well cudgelled, the night constable 
made a tardy appearance, into whose arms the beaten 
youth unconsciously rushed. 

The population of the neighborhood, male and female, 


ST. maur; or, an earl's wooing. 127 

attracted by the piercing outcries, hastily rushed to the 
scene of disturbance, whilst in every direction raising 
of windows, and questions and answers of all descrip- 
tions were screeched from dwelling to dwelling. 

Before many moments elapsed, a motley crowd of men, 
boys, and women had assembled at the spot, where they 
found the old man grovelling upon the ground as if in 
the last agonies of death, and “ Slummer’s Dick ” in the 
hands of the watch. 

It was some time before the supposed murdered man 
could be made to understand these were friends around, 
and not thieves, during which he kept up the most 
piteous calls for help. When partially quieted, and, as 
for the first time since the attack, casting his eyes upon 
Bichard he again fell back, covering his face Avith his 
hands and rolling from side to side, screaming as though 
in the utmost terror. 

“ That’s he ; take him away, help ! help ! he’ll kill 
me ; ” then partially recovering, “ My good people, hold 
him fast, you know not what prodigious strength he 
possesses.” With this the bystanders were about to 
lay hold on and assist the watchman, whilst others 
plied the wounded man with questions. 

“ What is the matter ? ” said one, as with the assist- 
ance of half a dozen others he helped the old man to 
rise. “Did he rob and then try to kill you?” for a 
lamp had been brought and the coins discovered, most 
of which quickly disappeared in the pockets of those 
who seemed most sympathetic. 


128 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ Yes, good people,” said the injured man, rubbing 
his elbows and knees with many contortions. “ Hold 
him fast, hold him fast. He is a double-dyed villain.” 
Then, growing courageous, “ though I struggled with 
him. my trusty cane,” shaking it with great satisfac- 
tion, “ saved my life, I believe. Oh dear, he has nearly 
killed me. See, there is his knife. I caught it in my 
hand, or it would have ended me.” 

Here he exhibited the self-inflicted wounds which, by 
dint of much unseen pinching had been made to bleed. 
“ The scoundrel, but I will have the law of him yet.” 

The throng pressed round the old man in pity. 

“He’s worse nor Dick Turpin,” said one, “ robbin’ an’ 
murderin’ good folks in the ’ighway. An old man, too. 
For shame, young ’un, you’ll hang for this, if there be 
law in the land.” 

The cab, which had been heard in the distance, now 
came up, its occupant being no other than Rufus 
Applegarth, returning from Mr. Cashbid’s on the way 
to his lodgings. Attracted by the confusion, he stop- 
ped, and fancying that a physician might be required, 
pushed through the crowd, demanding “ if any one was 
hurt ? ” 

During all this time Richard’s amazement had been 
so great, added to his bruised condition, that he 
scarcely realized what had happened, and now for the 
first time as his eye caught that of the surgeon, found 
voice to protest. 

“ I did’nt do it at all, it’s a lie, a big lie. It was he 
who beat wie.” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 129 

“Look in liis pockets,” exclaimed the old man, “and 
see if he has’nt a sovereign and some half crowns with 
a hole punched through them. I always mark my 
pieces — and here’s his knife, too.” 

The policeman made the required search and, sure 
enough, there were the coins with the described marks 
— the same so generously presented to him by his 
quondam friend. 

No more conclusive proof than this was needed, and 
so the lad was borne off with a strong grip, amid his 
loud denials and the jeers of the crowd. 

Offers of assistance to the seeming victim were 
profusely made, but refused, until a calm voice close 
beside him said : “ I have a cab here and will convey 

you home should you not be able to 'walk.” 

Moses Mosler looked askant at this new comer, 
a vague feeling of uneasiness came over him, as muf- 
fling his cloak tightly around him and replacing his hat 
which had been lost in the mel^e, he stammered out a 
refusal. 

Applegarth caught a mere glimpse of the matted 
white beard and hair. “ Surely he had seen that face 
before, ^ut where ? ” Recollection at this point was 
a blank. He came nearer, but the other rapidly moved 
off and the throng began to disperse. Hesitating a 
moment the surgeon took a few rapid strides and came 
up to the old man, and asked: “Hav’nt I met you 
before ? ” 

Receiving no answer, the question was repeated. 

8 


130 ST. maur; oRj an earl's wooing. 


Without slacking his pace, and with his face buried 
in the folds of his garment, the old man replied, by 
a single monosyllable, in the negative. 

Repulsed by this obvious desire of avoidance. Apple- 
garth re-entered his cab, and as he was driven under 
the rays of the lamp, the retreating figure, which had 
barely reached the opposite side, half wheeled round 
to examine whither his questioner had gone. In doing 
this he loosened his wrap, and, for an instant, the two 
men were in plain view of each other, the bright gleams 
of light falling full upon their faces. A strange, unac- 
countable sickness of heart came over Rufus Apple- 
garth, and to the old man a fearful, and prophetic 
feeling of approaching evil. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AIT EARL’s WOOING. 131 


CHAPTER XL 

A DREAM. 

S OME weeks after this, Lord St. Maur and Captain 
Trevellyan, returning late from a hard day’s dis- 
tant shooting, were seated after dinner, their chairs 
turned toward a cheerful blaze, with glasses and wine 
decanters between them. 

St. Maur, with the exception of a few days’ confine- 
ment to his room — thanks to youth and a strong consti- 
tution — had easily regained his wonted vigor, though 
the present day’s tramp had proved too much, and he 
had been obliged at intervals to rest. 

Trevellyan, continuing their conversation, said : “ I 
tell you what, old fellow, this has been a tough spell, 
and will teach you a lesson — not to ride so recklessly 
again. Remember the adage, ‘experience is a most 
excellent master.’ ” 

“And a fool who learns thereby,” remarked the 
other. 

“ You think so, because you nail up your colors to 
float gallantly at last — that is, in the opinion of those 
whom one would care to have. For instance, Fensby, 
who was never a favorite, when he so grossly insulted 
poor Casten whom everybody liked, and shot him at 
the word as if he relished it, every one shunned and 


132 ST. MAUR; OR, AIS EABL’s WOOING, 

avoided the fellow, and would have nothing to do with 
him ; while you were the only man, who stood by and 
defended him, yet when it leaked out that he picked 
the quarrel to conceal and avoid the scandal of a lady’s 
slandered reputation, none of us thought we could do 
him too much honor.” 

“ Yes, I remember Fensby was very poor, and his 
pride was even greater than his poverty. He would 
have died before seeking sympathy, or advancing conr 
fidence that was not sought ; he was sensitive and with 
scarcely a friend, but the true instincts of a gentleman. 
I saw this and knew there must be something behind 
it all that only wanted a few kind words to disclose.. I 
was not mistaken, and though it has thrown a cloud 
over his whole life, yet I don’t believe there is a braver 
or more true-hearted fellow than Fensby. It was one 
of those incidents, or experiences, as you have just 
cited, that teach us a few of life’s bitter lessons.” 

It was a sad affair and every one justifies him now | 
but don’t become cynical ; Erroll, don’t expatiate upon 
the philosophy of life. Your existence, to my mind, 
has been laid in remarkably agreeable and pleasant 
places. You have one of the oldest titles and finest 
estates in the county ; when you go into society, you 
receive the lion’s share of attention. You have made 
your mark in “ tlie Lords,” and are considered a clever, 
rising man in that House. You are popular, with many 
friends, and they increase their number if you would. 
Then that clever article of yours in the last Quarterly 


ST. maur; or, m earl’s woomo. 13S 


created quite a sensation. More than all, I’ve heard 
your name mentioned for high office in the Govern- 
ment, and I suppose if you accept it, we’ll all have to 
give way, and you ’ll be more petted and flattered than 
ever.” 

“It is very good of you to say so many kind 
things, though your feelings bias your judgment, and I 
rather suspect the wish is father to the thought. I 
have nothing to complain of from society, except that 
it is a great bore. I doubt if I shall be in town this 
season.” 

“Not come to London ! ” cried the Guardsman, in the 
utmost astonishment, “what’s the matter? You never 
missed before ; and pray, what’s to become of meP I’m 
only tolerated because considered a kind of head 
keeper of the Lion, which rises up and lies down at my 
suggestion ; whereas, if they did but know what a lot of 
coaxing it required, I hardly think I should be held in 
such high favor.” 

“Well, I’m obliged,” returned St. Maur, “for indu- 
cing me to alter my intentions, and particularly for 
making yourself the scapegoat when it’s for good. 
There are many pleasant things attached to an ancient 
title and corresponding revenues, yet at the same time 
there are a good many drawbacks. There is no fun in hav- 
ing a half dozen mothers continually running after One, 
and, in a left handed sort of way, describing in glowing 
colors the excellent — though heretofore undiscovered — 
traits and qualities of a numerous and various female 


134 ST. MAUK; OR; AN EARL’s WOOING. 

progeny. If you don’t propose, their respective fami- 
lies are miffed and not calmed until next season affords 
other and better opportunities. If you should propose, 
besides doing a very foolish thing, you make enemies 
of all the others — until your wife settles down into 
giving parties. There are many girls, you know, who 
wish for high station and handsome establishments, and 
only a few can obtain these. So the rest spend 
their best years in a vain endeavor, then become 
faded, soured and disappointed, finally condescending 
to marry Factory or Merchant magnates, and the world 
hears that they are very happy. So passing out of our 
existence, forgotten until we are in later days 
reminded, by meeting their children in some outlandish 
place, where they have no bed of roses to lie upon.” 

“ What you say is very true, and coming from you, I 
know is neither vanity nor egotism. W e all see it. So 
is the world made up, and we must take it as it is. INIost 
men like being run after, and, because you are so 
indifferent, they victimize you the more : Women 
respect a cold, indifferent man. Respect with some 
personal acquaintance, soon becomes admiration, and 
admiration deepens into love. As for me, I fall in love 
a dozen times a year and out of it, half as often. But 
gracious! they don’t mind that. Rather like it, I 
fancy.” 

“ You are lucky, Audley. With all its advantages, 
it’s an intolerable nuisance to be placed in a position 
where one can’t speak with freedom, where each trivial 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 135 


action is talked of and discussed ; as regards myself, I 
am not such a goose as to think that in me lay any 
attractions, further than most other men possess, but 
all who have position and fortune have similar annoy- 
ances to contend with. As you say, some like it, others 
don’t; my wish is to be cared for, not for any outward 
surroundings, but for myself.” 

“ Don’t you place too high an estimate upon ‘ out- 
ward surroundings,’ and not sufficient upon yourself, 
Erroll? You can’t suppose I mean flattery, we have 
known each other too long for that,” and his voice 
softened, “ biit were I a woman, you are the very man 
I should fall in love with; the only person I ever saw 
who valued so lowly his own powers.” 

“ I know,” replied St. Maur warmly, “ that I have 
many advantages and blessings, but, above them all, I 
esteem your friendship most. You cannot know how 
often, in my saddest hours, you have come up before 
me, with your cheerful disposition and unselfish feel- 
ings. Then I have looked on the bright side and seen 
how much good there was in life, if one only possessed 
the ‘ Open Sesame,’ to discover it. There, I will stop, 
nor resolve ourselves into a mutual admiration society.” 

“No^ fear of that; I tell you what, you must rouse 
yourself and not disappoint the expectations which 
have been formed of you. I know that you don’t care 
for what is called ‘ society,’ or, rather are wearied of 
what interests most men. But the world of State 
Diplomacy lies before you, inviting you with open 


136 ST. MAUK; AN EARL’s WOOING. 


anils, and you will pass into it as water finds its level. 
Time out of mind your family have made their mark, 
and you will scarcely be an exception. One of these 
days, I shall see you high in the Government, whilst 
my fate, in the course of time may be to get a Majority 
in my regiment, and I shall gleefully pass on to a happy 
old age of single blessedness.” 

“ The pretty faces of the coquettes are well enough, 
Audley,iand no one likes them better than I, in their 
proper place. You must own that, sooner or later, one 
wearies of them, and one has to think of a companion 
for a lifetime. I like to see a woman reserved and not 
affected in manner or mind, who will be the same in the 
quiet hours of home life as in the turmoil of society. 
A girl brought up under good and loving influences, 
and not spoken of by every man familiarly, whose 
name is not bruited about at the clubs, nor her every 
attribute discussed, decisions passed upon each as 
though they were a race horse. She should be brought 
up to womanhood in that modesty and comparative 
retirement which alone gives purity of thought, truth- 
fulness of purpose, and refinement of character.” 

With this. Lord St. Maur got up, lit a fresh cigar 
and then resumed his seat. He had spoken more fer- 
vently than usual and, may be, even more so than the 
occasion warranted. It was certainly a change from 
his general indifference, and Trevellyn could not help 
remark it as he replied : 

“ I fully agree with you, but, my dear fellow, the 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 137 


women you describe are rarely if ever to be found. 
One would have to search for them with a lantern, like 
Diogenes, and the search might prove as futile. Such 
Avomen make the happy and proud mothers whom men 
esteem. St. Maur, you have an ideal which at some 
time each of us may have imagined.” 

“No ideal, Trevellyn. There are such women, but 
men rarely take the time and trouble to discover them, 
even could they, through their selfish, perverted tastes, 
recognize them Avhen found.” 

Unperceived, for St. Maur AA^as shading his broAv, 
Trevellyan contemplated his friend’s face, and read an 
undefined something Avhich gave a strange thrill through 
his mind, or rather, a sharp pang. He thought, was 
another to stand betAveen them? Were the old fond 
associations to be broken ? Why not, if what he had 
looked forAvard to as the crowning point of his friend’s 
life — a woman worthy of his love — and that loA^e 
returned Avith equal fervor. He had marked a change 
coming over St. Maur of late, but attributed it to fancy, 
noAv it was clear. 

To others it was St. Maur, the noble and wealthy 
earl ; but to Am, only Erroll, the boy, the man whom he 
had cared for right well, and loved all his life, and 
Avhose affection was all to him. There was, he knew, 
a Avoman’s soft touch in this. A gentle, loving 
Avoman’s hand, and Trevellyan now first surmised it. 
What would be the end ? If love came to this cold, 
proud, but sensitive man’s heart, it would be joy or 
sorrow, hell or heaven. 


138 ST. mauk; or^ an earl’s wooing. 

Probably he would have no difficulty in winning 
any woman whom they met in the broad circles of 
society, but the woman who would attract St. Maur’s 
attention must differ much from these; from such a 
woman it might require more, and she might be diffi- 
cult to win. A revolution of feeling swept over Tre- 
vellyan, and finally he said, his voice having an altered, 
hollow tone. 

“Erroll, you have spoken to-night of women and 
marriage differently from what I have been accustomed 
to hear. Generally, you have left the merits of the 
subject, as well as the ceremony, to those who liked it. 
I am glad to see that you at last admit there are 
exceptions to your views of women, gathered from our 
present day experience.” 

“ Don’t mistake me, Audley. I do not mean to utter 
a word that could in the slightest degree be regarded as 
derogatory of woman. Still, I have avoided what is 
called falling in love, as I would a dangerous rock in 
the sea of life. One knows not at what time they, with 
their still more frail and precious burden, may be 
wrecked upon breakers that only appear when fairly 
started on the voyage. I have seen so many lives 
broken, with unutterable anguish, by the influence and 
acts of vain and silly women. Yet, I believe firmly 
that women are far superior to our own sex. But, for 
the worst of human kind, commend me to a vicious, 
vain and silly woman.” 

“ Your sentiments on this subject,” replied Trevellyan, 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 139 


catching the lighter mood, “are much the same as 
mine, and I feel their truthfulness, whilst our deeds 
differ. I sip the sweets from every flower, not caring 
whence it comes or how it was cultivated. You^ 
though amused for the moment, are repelled, unless its 
utter purity he apparent. But I shall not keep you up 
longer, for, no doubt, you are, wearied and tired, even 
as I am. I wish you could have kept up to-day and 
had as good sport as myself, though I believe you 
enjoyed my pleasure more than your own. I must be 
off early in the morning, and have taken the privilege 
of ordering the cart for that purpose.” 

“I am sorry you are going,” said St. Maur. “I wish 
heartily you could make a longer stay. Come when- 
ever you have an opportunity. I feel better and brighter 
after your visits, and will promise finer sport, if any- 
thing, than we had to-day, for I shall be able to stalk 
with you.” 

“ I should very much like to remain,” rejoined Tre- 
vellyan. “ I am sufficiently at home not to stand upon 
ceremony or wait for an invitation, but I’ve overstayed 
my time now. Some of the Mess are waiting my return, 
for their own leaves. It is not much duty we do, but 
I must take my turn punctually when it comes. You 
must come down for the season, or I shall be up after 
you, though I suppose others of more consequence will 
see to that. So, good night and good-by.” 

St. Maur, on reaching his chamber, threw himself 
listlessly down, lost in reverie. His face was haggard, 


140 ST. maxjr; OR, ak earl’s wooing. 

the eye restless, yet wearied. This could not be 
physical suffering. Unconsciously his lips gave utter- 
ance to the thoughts within: 

“I will strive,” he muttered. “I will try as man 
never tried before, and with God’s help, will win.” 
He bowed his head lowly for a moment, then rose, and 
with a firm, happy smile upon his face, and retiring 
into an adjoining boudoir, where was an open desk, 
strewn with writing material, he wrote for hours, 
until casting down the pen, he walked noislessly across 
the passage to Trevellyan’s chamber, and shading the 
light, stood by the sleeping man’s side gazing into the 
unconscious face. The Guardsman was dreaming 
uneasily ; his arms at moments were thrown violently 
about, and he murmured brokenly and uneasily, at 
times excitedly. ‘‘There, there, quick; I say, for 
God’s sake, be quick ! Better love — hath no man — 
than this — that he lay — down — his — life — • for a 
friend.” 

Then he turned uneasily upon the other side and 
seemed quieted, and the old bright, happy smile came 
back. After watching a moment longer, St. Maur was 
about to retreat in the same manner he had come, when 
his foot struck a chair, which fell to the floor with a 
crash. Mechanically he turned his head to see if the 
sleeper was aroused. He had not time to realize the 
effect, for Trevellyan sprang violently from the bed^ 
brushing his arm across his eyes, his massive frame 
shaking as by some great convulsion ; drops of perspi- 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 141 


ration stood out upon his forehead, whilst his features 
had a startled look of horror and surprise. 

“ My God, Erroll, is that you ? ” he exclaimed. 

“ Yes ; I came in for a moment to see if you were 
resting well. You’ve been dreaming. It has quite 
upset you.” 

“ Dreaming, have I ? ” He appeared to collect his 
scattered senses, and with a sigh of relief, “ Thank 
God, it was only a dream.” And as if to make sure, 
he passed his hand over St. Maur, who repeated : 

“ Yes ; been dreaming.” 

“ I see I have,” he replied, as if a great weight were 
lifted. Again the shudder seemed to creep over him. 
“ But, Erroll, as long as I live, I want no more such 
dreams. How vivid it was. We were at a great fire, 
and — and some were in extreme peril, and you and I 
— and two were burned to death. But psha!” with 
extreme disgust, “ I ’ll tell no more. It’s not worth the 
breath consumed.” Then resuming his natural boyish 
manner : “ What foolish things dreams are. I alwaj^s 
fancy I ’m a general or field marshal, with lots of tin and 
no end of fun. I ’m quite sure that will never come 
to pass. Though I ’ve heard say that one dream in a 
man’s life must come true. I wonder if that’s so. 
Look here ! you ’ve knocked over my clothes and 
watch. Let’s see what’s the time. Why, it’s five 
o’clock. Well, I ’ll get up, as I have to be off at six ; 
but,” glancing at the other’s dress, which showed no 
signs of disarrangement, you havn’t been to bed. 


142 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

Writing? The same old thing; or rather, I ’ll wager 
you ’ve commenced something new.” 

‘‘Yes,” he replied, slightly embarrassed, “I have 
passed a few hours scribbling, as the inspiration was 
never stronger, and the ideas coming quick and fast, I 
deemed it best to jot them down.” 

“ Ghacun a son repeated the Captain, as he 

dressed himself. “ I sincerely wish I could do the same. 
But don’t stay up for me,” regarding him with some 
concern. “You look tired — and worn out.” He was 
going to say, miserable and suffering. “ I hope, in the 
future, your inspirations will come in the daytime, and 
not at night.” 

“ I shall take some rest now,” answered St. Maur. 
“ Remember my request,” — he had spoken of it during 
the day, — “about Mr. Applegarth. Put his name down 
at the club, and show him some attention. I will come 
up for a short time, if only for that purpose. He 
showed me kindness and did me a service, and these 
are things I never forget. I should like to see more of 
him and am sure you will be pleased with him.” 


ST. MAUR; ORj an earl’s wooing. 143 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE GUARDSMAN CAPTIVATED. 

UFUS APPLEGARTH had remained in London, 



JLi) taking advantage of Mr. Cashbid’s invitation, in 
the candid manner extended, and became a frequent 
visitor. That gentleman, besides lavishing affection 
upon his niece, took quite a fancy to the American, 
and plied him continuously with questions about the 


States. 


When away from these influences, Applegarth’s fits 
of gloom continued. He took long, solitary walks, 
which generally had for their ending an obscure church- 
yard, where, among the graves, was a plain, weather- 
stained slab, simply marked, “Isabella, daughter of 
Philip Kirby. Born, . Died, .” 

It was after a return from one of these that he found 
a visitor had called, “ Capt. Audley Trevellyan,” as his 
card stated, leaving a verbal message that he would 
return again at five o’clock, which he did, making mat- 
ters plain by a re-introduction, with an explanation of 
the liberty taken. 

“You must dine with me,” he said; “I am just on 
my way to the club, and all alone.” 

The doctor was drawn away from himself by the 
other’s frank and manly bearing, and readily acqui- 


esced. 


144 ST. maur; or, ahh earl’s wggii^g. 

Tliey were strolling leisurely along when, with an 
account hook of the day’s sales under his arm, Mr. 
Cashbid loomed up in front. Shaking hands with both, 
and speaking familiarly to the captain, for Mr. Cashbid 
knew everybody worth knowing, and vice versa^ those 
worth knowing were not allowed to escape his acquaint- 
ance. 

“ Where are you young gentlemen going — going — 
going?” he cried. “To the Club, I’ll be bound. 
Change your minds and take ‘ pot luck ’ with me. I’ve 
some excellent port, and claret that will stand the test. 
Mrs. Cashbid will be delighted to see you. It was only 
the other day she was saying she had not set eyes upon 
Capt. Trevellyan since she met him at Brighton — 
going, going, going.” 

Mrs. Cashbid was not one of the upper ten, yet lan- 
guished upon the outskirts of that select circle, not 
visiting ladies, but like her husband, knowing the men ; 
and nothing delighted her more than a drive in the 
park, an occasional conversation at the carriage door, 
or the coming of some one to dine. 

“ I asked Dr. Applegarth,” said the captain, “ for a 
quiet dinner at the club, but as this later invitation is 
fraught with so much more pleasure, I am sure we are 
too thankful to turn a deaf ear upon fortune.” 

“Mr. Cashbid has been so kind and hospitable,” 
answered the surgeon, “that I believe it has been the 
main reason of my stay in town. I should have felt lost 
without his house to go to, and have only been afraid 
of trespassing too much.” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARl’s WOOING. 145 


“ Why,” said the auctioneeer, appealing to Trevel- 
lyan, “ to show you his backwardness, I have been beg- 
ging him to take up his quarters with me, but can’t 
induce — going, going — I desire to learn so much 
about America, but can’t think of the questions I want 
to ask until after he has left, and by the next time I 
meet him they are — going, going — gone out of my 
head, and never come back until he has left again.” 

They had walked briskly along and arrived at the 
house. Trevellyan wondered how these two, though 
strangers, apparently knew each other so well, but good 
breeding forbade inquiry. 

“ Captain Trevellyan ! ” cried the agreeably surprised 
lady of the house, advancing most graciously with 
extended hand, “ I am so glad to see you, and it’s been 
so long since we met ; I remember now, it was at the 
Rifles’ ball, at Brighton. Let me introduce you to 
our niece. Bessie, this is Captain Trevellyan, of the 
Guards.” 

Bessie, who had remained shjdy in the background, 
now came forward, and before half a dozen sentences 
were uttered, felt perfectly at home with the stranger, 
whose manners were open and easy. She looked very 
pretty, which she was, with only a few buds placed in 
her shining hair. Bessie was one who, by her thought- 
ful unselfishness and natural manners, attracted every 
one. Mrs. Cashbid was already anxious and willing to 
lavish anything and everything upon her, and it was 
only by a firm, yet mild and persuasive way, that she 
9 


146 ST. maue; oe, an eael’s wooing. 

exercised a constraint that would otherwise have decked 
her in all the costly colors of the rainbow, comprised 
in silk, satins and ribbons, the symptoms extending so 
far as jewelry. 

“ I declare,” said Trevellyan, after they were seated 
at table, himself supporting and confidentially address- 
ing the hostess, with reference to something she had 
just spoken, “ I think you are extremely fortunate to 
have discovered such a lovely, charming person as your 
niece.” 

“ Yes, indeed. Captain Trevellyan, ’tis the best piece 
of fortune we ever had. I can’t see how we ever did 
without her. I would not give her up for worlds, and 
you say you never heard about it ? W ell, I must tell 
you, it’s so strange, and has made us so very happy,” and 
then in lowered terms she explained the whole history. 
Bessie, conversing with her uncle and friend, could not 
hear, but could tell by their repeated glances they were 
talking of her, and it was anything but pleasant to 
know a stranger Avas being regaled with her family 
history. Yet, she loved her aunt, and surely it met 
with full return ; but why couldn’t she do it, if at all, 
at some other time and place ? The color mounted to 
her cheeks, Avhich lent an additional charm, and though 
Trevellyan was rather annoyed by the confidence, it 
gave greater impulse to an already awakened interest. 

“ Captain Trevellyan, what are you and my good 
wife conversing about all this time. You are entirely 
neglecting the claret, which is some of Carbonell’s 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 147 

particular. Empty your glasses and refill, and pass the 
bottle, for we are going to drink Bessie’s health.” 

“ With all my heart,” cried Trevellyan. “ Miss 
Egerton, I drink to your good health, truly wishing 
you all happiness in life.” He had never drank with 
more alacrity, or with a deeper wish for its fulfillment. 
“ This is excellent wine,” he continued, “ and perhaps 
I can’t give you as good, but we have some fine Bur- 
gundy in our military Mess, and you and Dr. Apple- 
garth must come down and dine with me. I shall take 
no refusal, so name the day.” 

He had suddenly desired to become upon terms of 
greater intimacy with this family. It was not his 
province or privilege to invite Mrs. Cashbid into 
society, but her husband might be his guest. 

The auctioneer was ever ready to accept either a 
business or social bid, and readily came into the ar- 
rangement, naming the following Wednesday. 

“ Wednesday it shall be,” said the Guardsman, 
“ without fail ; and I tell you what we’ll do ; we shall 
have a box at the opera that night, and take the ladies. 
Mrs. Cashbid, won’t you support my plan of the cam- 
paign? ” 

The lady could not have been more delighted. To 
be at the opera in company with the gay, aristocratic 
Guardsman, and his friends to come to the »box. She 
could scarcely dream of such distinction — nor of its 
cause. 

“ To be sure,” she cried, “ it’s the very thing. What 


148 ST. mauk; or, ak earl’s wooing. 

a nice time we can have, and just what I wished for 
Bessie,” who was doubly j)leased, and with all her 
demure behavior, took a sly glance at the author of 
the programme. 

“Just the thing,” said her uncle, jumping to his 
feet. “ Another glass of wine, gentlemen, to seal the 
compact. Wednesday I’ll be with you, and at the 
opera with the ladies afterwards.” 

Everybody seemed immeasurably pleased, even Ap- 
plegarth joining in the mirth. 

“ What do you say. Miss Egerton ? ” said Trevellyan, 
every moment more attracted and friendly ; “ you have 
neither approved nor objected.” 

“ Oh ! I should like it above all things,” she replied. 
“ I have read operas, but never seen one, and imagine 
they must be charming.” 

“That’s the best of all,” cried the captain glee- 
fully, “just think of going to an opera with a young 
lady who has never been in a theatre ! How lucky I 
am! Half the fellows I know would give their best 
leave for such a piece of fortune.” 

“ Oh, but Captain Trevellyan,” answered Bessie, 
blushing and feeling quite awkward, “ you must make 
up your mind not to laugh at me, or, much as I 
should love to go, I will have to stay away.” 

“ Laugh* at you^ Miss Egerton ? Nothing could be 
further from my mind. A fellow who sees himself 
envied by every other man, besides being very happy, 
cannot feel like laughing at a lady. I fear I shall 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 14^ 

be so serious as to go down on my knees and thank 
you for such a treat. You don’t know what a bore it 
is to go with people who only care to be seen, or stare 
at others, and who scarcely look upon the stage unless 
the prima donna be on.” 

Upon repairing to the parlor after dinner, the ar- 
rangements were discussed and finally decided upon. 
The Guardsman left, specially elated at the prospect, 
and wrote to St. Maur that night that he had seen Dr. 
Applegarth, and spent a very pleasant evening in his 
company, incidentally mentioning where, but with not 
a word of the ladies, concluding with, “ I greatly wish 
you would join us on Wednesday. Come down for a 
day or two, particularly if you desire to do what is civil, 
for Dr. Applegarth speaks of returning to America. I 
cannot make out what his intentions are, as one instant 
he talks one way, and the next another. His mind 
appears brooding upon some subject, that I can hardly 
believe to be pleasant, though at times he lightens up 
and is cheerful enough. If I thought it were money, I 
would not hesitate to tell you, but it cannot be that, as 
I understand he is comfortably off, and is in some con- 
nection with Sir John Carle ton. Be that as it may, 
do try to come.” 

St. Maur received the letter in due time, and obeyed 
its summons in person. 


150 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


CHAPTER XIII 


AT THE OPERA 


N the appointed day Mr. Cashbid dined at the 



Guards’ Mess, where St. Maur and the younger 
son of a duke, together with several honorables, were 
of the company. It was not a grand set-out, but an 
impromptu party, as Trevellyan explained. Mr. Cash- 
bid felt very comfortable, indeed he had never felt 
better, and was in a condition to enjoy the opera, or 
anything else that might conveniently turn up for his 
delectation. 

St. Maur, when not engaged with Applegarth, devoted 
himself to the auctioneer, with the utmost success. He 
saw that Trevellyan must have some special reason for 
paying him attentions, or how could he otherwise 
account for thus thrusting such a vulgar person upon 
his associates. 

It was satisfactorily agreed that Trevellyan and Mr. 
Cashbid should drive the ladies to the theatre, where 
St. Maur and Applegarth were to join them. Soon 
after the party were seated in a spacious proscenium 
box. 

Mr. Cashbid, thanks to fate, was very litjle with 
them; he was mostly in the lobbies, chatting in the 
most animated style with various gentlemen of his 


ST. maur; or, earl’s wooing. 151 

acquaintance. His wife was in her glory, with one 
regret excepted — what a pity it was not “ the season ! ” 
She sat a shining mark for public gaze. Bessie modestly 
retired further back, simply commanding a full view 
of the stage, her single annoyance being the frequent 
interruptions made by Mrs. Cashbid in whispering 
questions behind her fan of “Who was this?” or 
“who was not that?” and “Bessie, do look here, I 
want to show you something!” the something being 
an opera cloak, new hat, or anything not in connec- 
tion with the opera. 

St. Maur had taken a position behind Bessie’s chair, 
and was amused and pleased at the frequent naive 
expressions of surprise or delight at the shifting 
scenes — but he was all the while dreaming of a face 
with soft brown eyes and wavy chestnut hair. His 
was no sentimental passion. He would stake his 
existence for a word, a smile. A rapturous yearning 
had taken possession of his senses. Call it love ; call 
it what you may, it was there. Tender hope nestled 
close beside it — hope which, at times, alone makes life 
endurable. Whatever disappointments, or unrealized 
wishes betide, it is Hope that sustains the spirit through 
depression and doubt. 

Whilst his thoughts were thus engaged, his attention 
was attracted by a party entering one of the opposite 
boxes. Their presence was almost entirely concealed 
by the heavy curtains in front. Between these and 
the bright -colored wall was a small opening formed by 


152 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

the hanging of the drapery. Upon this spot his eyes 
were riveted. Every pulse seemed to stand still, his 
very heart to cease beating, and then with sudden 
reaction send the blood rushing, thrilling through his 
veins. 

“ Miss Egerton, would you lend me your lorgnette a 
moment?” His voice was unusually calm, but his 
hand trembled. Bessie was too much engaged with 
the play to notice this. A woman in the world of 
society could not have failed to observe and mark it. 
The opera glass literally quivered in his hand. It was 
Lucille Carleton — ever in his thoughts — often in his 
dreams. 

Might this emotion, this love be called new — love at 
first sight, which, strong in its purity, stamps itself in 
burning characters upon the soul? He knows not the 
reasoning : sufficient it was love. 

“ Is that Dr. Applegarth across there ? ” said Mrs. 
Cashbid, straining her eyes. “ Why, he was here a 
moment ago. I can just make out,” raising her glass, 
“ it’s a lady and gentleman. Who can it be he’s with ? 
Do you know. Lord St. Maur ? ” 

“ It is Sir John Carleton. He is my neighbor in the 
country.” 

“Sir John Carleton? ” said Bessie, for the first time 
raising her eyes from the performance, “ why, it was at 
his place Dr. Applegarth said that you were hurt, when 
he first met you.” 

“ There, Bessie, broke in Mrs. Cashbid, “ do look just 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 153 

behind the curtain ; you can catch a glimpse of the lady. 
Who is she, Captain Trevellyan ? ” 

“I scarcely know them. You will have to ask St. , 
Maur. They are next neighbors of his.” 

The Guardsman had been sufficiently occupied in 
the pleasant task of looking at and admiring one of the 
occupants of their own box, and was plainly not going 
to allow his attention to be diverted. 

“ Lord St. Maur, will you tell us who that lovely 
lady is ? ” asked the inquisitive matron. 

St. Maur felt worried at what he thought, in this 
instance, rather rude curiosity, and was angry for 
permitting himself to be placed in the society of 
such an ill-bred woman. But then, it was to please 
Trevellyan. 

‘‘ It is Miss Carleton,” he replied. 

Bessie was silent for awhile, but once or twice turned 
and inadvertently caught his gaze, steadfastly fastened. 
Mrs. Glover’s homely advice about her own courtship 
suddenly occurred to her mind. Presently she said, 
too low to disturb the others : 

“Would you tell me her name, I should like to 
know ? ” 

“ Miss Carleton’s ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Lucille,” he answered, coloring. 

“ Lucille,” she repeated. “ What a pretty name ! ” 

“You like it?” 

“ Yes, there’s something very soft and sweet about 
it; don’t you think so?” 


154 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


“ It is very pretty.” 

“ Do you know her very well ? ” 

“ Scarcely at all.” 

“ She has a remarkably fine face,” raising her glass. 
“ Just the sort of person one would imagine the name 
to suggest; a being, better — as she is fairer — than 
ourselves.” 

“ You can scarcely judge of her by the present light. 
She is one of the loveliest women I ever saw.” 

At this moment the curtain went down. 

Sir John had met Rufus Applegarth in the lobby 
upon entering, and linking arms, insisted upon his 
accompanying him, turning a cold shoulder — if such 
were possible — upon the snubbed auctioneer. 

“Are you here alone?” said Sir John. 

“No, I am with friends just there,” nodding the 
direction. 

“Not with the woman in glaring ribbons?” 

“Yes; that is Mrs. Cashbid.” 

“ The pretty girl on her left,” continued the Baronet, 
“ is certainly not her daughter ? ” 

“ No, that is Miss Egerton. This is her first night 
at any theatre, which you will probably see by observ- 
ing her rapt attention. I told you of her coming from 
America with me.” 

“ The young lady you were speaking of ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ She is very pretty, papa ? ” said Lucille. 

“ Yes,” responded he. Then addressing Applegarth, 
asked, “ who are the gentlemen ? ” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL's WOOING. 155 


“ Lord St. Maur and Captain Trevellyan.” 

Lucille uttered not a word. Of course she was lis- 
tening intently to the music. She had recognized one 
before. 

“ How has he gotten ? ” 

“ Oh, very well ; scarcely an ache.” 

“ Where did you pick up the ribboned dame ? What 
is her name — Mrs. Cashbid — oh, yes; I recollect some- 
thing about it now. Aunt of the girl; that's the attrac- 
tion.” 

“ Dr. Applegarth, I very much admire your young 
friend, and would like to know her,” said Lucille. 

“I will bring her to call upon you, if Sir John will 
permit me ? ” 

“Certainly I Lucille has been peculiarly situated, 
without companions of her own age, and I want her 
to have some, whom she may invite to Carle ton 
Park.” 

“ Papa, I should like it above all things if you would 
let me invite her down. Dr. Applegarth has told me so 
much about her.” 

“ My child, I did not know that you desired the com- 
pany of any one. I should only be too glad for you to 
have friends of your own age.” 

“Bessie,” said Rufus Applegarth, coming back, 
“ Miss Lucille and Sir John Carleton have requested 
me to bring you to them ; if you will come, I am sure 
your aunt will not object. Miss Lucille is a sweet girl, 
whom I know you will love.” 


156 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ I shall be very glad to go,” said she, “ if I wont 
miss any of the music,” and she hesitated, looking at 
her aunt for approval. 

That lady was secretly chagrined at not being inclu- 
ded in the invitation, and it struck her it would be 
decidedly better if the Baronet should come to them; 
this would form the climax of her glory. 

Rufus Applegarth explained, as delicately as possible, 
this was out of the question, for from Sir John Carle- 
ton’s great wealth and high position, people readily 
gave way to him what they might not in others. 

“Well, Bessie, my dear, I expect you had better go 
then,” concluded her aunt, with a sigh of regret, as 
Bessie followed Dr. Applegarth through the lobbies. 

“ This is, or rather was, my little charge,” he said, 
introducing Bessie. 

The Baronet took her by the hand, almost affection- 
ately, in a way that completely won her heart, and said 
tenderly, “ My child, this is my daughter. I want you 
to know each other and become fast friends.” 

At these kindly words all reserve and constraint 
vanished, and before parting, which was not until the 
close of the opera, it was understood that at no distant 
day she was to come to Carleton Park, if her uncle 
permitted. 

They lingered a few minutes in the vestibule, Sir 
John speaking to St. Maur, whilst Trevellyan was 
escorting Mrs. Cashbid, who was loth to part with 
Bessie even for a few weeks. 


ST. MxVUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 157 

St. Maur seized the opportunity of at least being 
courteous, and said: “I am afraid Miss Carleton does 
not remember me ? ” 

She knew he was there, yet looked surprised, as, 
coloring, she replied : “ Oh ! no, I am very glad to see 
you have gotten so well over your fall ! ” 

“ Many thanks to your first kindness, I have scarcely 
feit it.” 

Perfectly at ease in the crashing ball-room, or quiet 
ladies’ boudoir, he was embarrassed now, and knew not 
what to say. She could not but see it, and said: “Did 
you like the opera this evening ? ” 

This was spoken in her naturally distant manner, 
yet there was an indescribable sweetness, an untold 
depth of tenderness in the tone, that thrilled him with 
delight. 

“ Yes,” he replied, “I have never enjoyed it so much 
before.” 

Others might have called it a meagre and poor mode 
of enjoyment ; he could not conceal the earnestness of 
this answer. 

“ You are with Miss Egerton, are you not?” 

“ Yes.” 

He was lost again ; yet how happy to be there, to 
speak to her — to hear her — eagerly to drink in every 
intonation. 

“ She has promised to come to Carleton Park, and 
papa,” looking in that direction, “ is asking her Aunt ; 
I hope she wont refuse.” 


168 ST. maue; or, an earl’s wooing. 


“ Miss Egerton is a very charming, lovely girl,” was 
all he could say. 

“ I think so, too,” turning her face to his ; “ I like 
her so much.” 

St. Maur’s heart beat the faster under that glance. 
He was more confused than ever. Where were the 
thousands of things he might say? He who was so 
collected, and possessed of such rare conversational 
powers. Where were all these ? Swept from his mind 
as chaff before a whirlwind, and only the depths of his 
heart silently cried out, “ I love you ; I love you.” 

“ Are you going to remain at Carleton Park ? ” 

“ Until the Season, when papa speaks of coming to 
town. The country is dreary at times, and I am very 
fond of town, and papa likes it occasionally.” 

“ Do you often go to the opera ? ” 

“No, I Ve had but few opportunities. We have not 
been in England a great while, and papa has not been 
very well. I suppose you are obliged to come down to 
the meeting of Parliament ? ” 

“ Not obliged. They can get along very well without 
me; perhaps better. I hope we may sometime meet 
here, if not in the country.” 

“ Thank you.” 

St. Maur paused, awkwardly ; there was no intima- 
tion that he might see her. Her father approached 
with the other party, signifying his victory over Mrs. 
Cashbid’s opposition, and so there was no further oppor- 
tunity, until he stood by the carriage door to hand 
her in. 


ST. maur; or, ai^ earl’s wooing. 150 


“ They smell very sweet,” he said, alluding to a few 
flowers she held in her hand. How he coveted one of 
them! 

“I am very fond of flowers. These are scarcely 
worth observing. Would you hold them a moment?” 
She gathered up her dress and gracefully stepped in 
after her father. St. Maur closed the door, standing 
by the window. Sir John was giving orders to the 
footman on the other side. 

“I must bid you good by,” and he held out his 
hand. 

“ Good night I ” She looked up and gave him hers. 
With that touch and glance, a thrill of ecstasy entered 
his heart. 

The carriage drove off, he turned away. A few buds 
were in his hand, valued above all the world to him. 
Carefully, tenderly, he placed them over his heart. 


160 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE SEASON. 

L ONDON’S season was at its height. Everything — 
everybody — was bright and gay. 

Sir John Carle ton had come, not for the brightness 
nor the gayeties. His pleasures were centered in his 
child, but he could not bear to see her perfectly isolated 
in the country from all amusements. In London, she 
would have the Park, the opera, the theatres, compan- 
ions and various other amusements. He would always 
be with her and need not be annoyed by visitors. 
Society would scarcely have the hardihood to intrude 
unsolicited upon him. 

Captain Trevellyan was going the old beaten rounds, 
simply intent upon pleasure, but there was a ten- 
derer spot in his heart now than there had ever been 
before. Several times he had written to St. Maur, 
urging him by every inducement to come up, but to 
these received a negative reply, and Vas just about to 
run up to the Towers and try his personal persuasion 
when, upon entering the club in the evening, he was 
surprised to find his friend waiting for him. 

“ When did you come ? ” said the Captain, after the 
first surprise. 

“ A few hours ago, and came here to dine with you.” 


ST. MAURJ OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 161 


“ Come to stay ? ” 

“ Yes. Anything new ? ” 

“ Nothing especial. Lots of people asking about you, 
and I haven’t known what answer to make. Plenty of 
cards for you. By the way, I see you have got an offer 
to be shipped abroad to the Colonies. Excellent posi- 
tion, too. What do you intend to do ? ” 

“ Refuse, I suppose. You know I don’t care for that 
sort of thing, though I am glad to see I’m at least 
remembered. I had begun to think they had forgotten 
me. Seen anything of your friends, the Cashbids ? ” 

“ Yes, saw them last night ; ” and the Guardsman 
carelessly took a newspaper from the table, appearing, 
for the moment, to be deeply interested in it. 

“ Miss Egerton there still ? ” 

“ Yes, she lives there you know. But, come ; let’s 
have dinner;” and they repaired to the dining-room, 
where they were hardly seated when an Under Secre- 
tary espied St. Maur, and hastily leaving his own table, 
seated himself beside him, saying : 

“ Lord St. Maur, you here ? Just the person I 
wanted to see. Lord Talboys” — the chief of his 
bureau — “ wants to know who shall be returned from 
your borough to fill the vacancy. Have you decided 
upon any one? Your interest can name the man. 
Talboys must see you as early as possible in regard to 
it. Could you call to-night ? ” 

“Not to-night.” 

“Well, then, at Downing street in the morning. I 

10 


162 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


promise yon not to be kept waiting a moment. It will 
be a tight pull just now. We can’t count too securely 
on our majority, and won’t continue in office unless 
there is a fair showing of support from the Commons. 
If Sir John Carleton’s Welsh interest could be secured? 
This was said meditatively. “ It would be a great help. 
He arrived in town last night.” 

‘T don’t think he cares for politics,” answered St. 
Maur. 

“Well, come in the morning at any rate.” 

Trevellyan thought it was a rather strange coincidence 
that St. Maur and the Baronet, naturally including 
Miss Carleton, should make their appearance simulta- 
neously in town ; and the Under Secretary was not a 
little surprised to learn, on the following day, that his 
Lordship had nothing of more importance the evening 
before than to witness the play. It was at variance 
with his usual conduct, and although St. Maur occupied 
his seat in the House of Lords, and was ever prepared 
with his good sense, ready tact and energetic labor to 
assist, and was making a high mark; favored above 
others, standing distinguished among his brother Peers, 
his name daily in the public prints and more often on 
the lips of the people, yet — strange infatuation — he 
preferred the opera and the different theatres to the 
political dinners, gay receptions and grand balls. 

Sometimes rewarded by a glimpse of his inamorata, 
at other times going away in bitter disappointment. 
Could she have observed that silent admiration and 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 163 


known his heart ? He could never mortify a woman 
by showing or telling an emotion that might be dis- 
tasteful. He could not thrust himself forward : rather 
a thousand times bear the passion deep in his soul. He 
could not go boldly and say : “ I love you I come to my 
home ! be my own ! ” There were preliminaries, which 
not only social, but God’s greater law of nature 
demands and provides. There cannot be an immediate 
answer. The heart must first search out and find its 
own feelings. There must be a time, a place, an 
opportunity, to woo as well as to win. 


164 ST. MAUKJ OK, AN EAEL’s WOOING. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE MISSIVE. 


UCILLE CARLETON was busily embroidering 



I A with many-colored worsteds. Her thoughts were 
of the night before — of a handsome face, of a look that 
told a tender story— and a faint color flushed her 


cheek. 


A servant told her there was a boy at the door who 
desired to speak to her, and had a note, which he 
insisted on placing in her own hands. She descended 
to the hall and saw an uncouth and repulsive youth, 
who familiarly handed her a note, which had been 
composed by the joint efforts of Mr. Squint and the 
Jew. It ran thus: 

“Mademoiselle Lucille Cakleton: 

“Nothing could induce me to this step excepting the 
extreme circumstances in which I am placed. I am the 
widow of your late uncle, since whose death your 
father has entirely cut off the allowance which he used 
to draw from his bankers, and long previously I was 
given but a small portion of this. The funeral expenses 
were far beyond my means, and I am in utter poverty. 
I have spent my last sou in reaching London, where I 
find your parent will neither see nor hear me. I appeal 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 165 


to yolir sjTnpathies, as one woman to another in dis- 
tress. Help me. Do give me some little of your plenty, 
at least to keep me from utter want. 

“ In anxious suspense, 

“ I am, votre malheureux^ 

“ Theresa Carleton.” 

Lucille read this with feelings of distress and sorrow. 
Here was she, surrounded with every comfort and 
blessing, whilst this poor creature was in actual want. 
What was to be done? She could not speak to her 
father. It was the one subject utterly barred and pro- 
hibited. She had never forgotten the painful look of 
distress upon his face the last time this woman’s name 
was mentioned. 

“ Who gave you this ? ” she asked. 

Daniel, thoroughly posted, said, “ A lady who says as 
how she came from Paris, and told me, if you gived me 
anythink, to be werry keerful and pertickler and bring 
it straight to her.” 

“ Do you know where she lives ? ” 

“ No ; she didn’t as seem to have any place to live. 
She would ’a come herself but said as how she was 
afraid. So she come to my boss first. Here’s his 
card. The lady come to him, and he sort o’ took pity 
on her, and sent me with that letter as she wrote.” 

“ Can I see your master ? ” said she. 

“ Oh, yes’m ! he’s my uncle too,” with a broad grin. 
“ Oh, yes ; he’ll come to see, or meet you anywhere 
you say.” 


166 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ I will keep this card,” said she, “ and send a message 
when and where I can meet him. In the mean time, 
take this and give it to the lady, if she is there when 
you get back ; if not, to him, for her.” Here she handed 
him several sovereigns — all she had at the time. 

She felt that she must devise means, some way to 
help her permanently, and yet not wound her father’s 
feelings. She stood pondering a moment after the boy 
had gone, and then went in search of Mrs. Simpson, 
determined to hold council and seek advice in the 
matter. 

As soon as Daniel had got outside, he gave a low 
peculiar whistle, as if some act was absolutely necessary 
to give vent to his pent up feelings. “ Aint she a green 
’un?” he thought, as he went homeward, but Mr. 
Squint’s house was not much out of the road. 

If this low and slouchy boy had a real feeling at all, 
it was for his sister, little Fan, and, next to this, a lurk- 
ing admiration for the fair Rosa at Stalker’s. As he 
came in sight of the lawyer’s domicile, he espied the 
little maid, broom in hand, busily sweeping the pave- 
ment. 

“ Hullo, sis.” 

“Why, Dan, how you frightened me,” cried she, 
aloud, letting drop the broom as she turned and recog- 
nized him. 

“ You mustn’t get skeered so easy. People aint a 
goin’ to kill you.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” replied the little maid, as 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 167 

though this were a doubtful fact, panting and holding 
her hand to her side in process of recovery. 

“ Look e’ here, what I ’ve got,” said the boy, sud- 
denly thrusting his hand before her, filled with the 
gold pieces. 

“ Oh, Dan ! but my, you do take my breath away.” 

“ Aint they pretty ? ” 

“ Yes ; but where did you get them ? ” 

“ Oh, I knows a thing or two: Here’s one for you.” 

“No, I don’t want any,” replied the little maid, 
resuming her sweeping, industriously. She had cause 
to suspect the honesty of her brother’s intentions 
before. 

“ Why, what ’s the matter, sis ? ” 

“Nothing, only I don’t want any. You’d better 
take them to those as whom they belong to.” 

“ Then I ’d take ’em to where they come frum.” 

“ Then you ’d better do it.” 

“ I aint quite so green as that, sis ; but as you don’t 
want ’em, I ’ll take a couple myself,” and he separated 
these, dropping them into a side pocket. “ I ’ll tell you 
what we ’ll do, sis, we ’ll go to the Wax Works and 
the Zoo’. ” 

“ Oh ! Dan, wouldn’ that be nice, if I could get off ; 
not, you mean, with — that money,” nodding her head 
at it. 

“ Why, in be sure.” 

“I — don’t — think I’ll go, Dan.” It was said re- 
luctantly, but resolutely. The broom plied again. 


168 ST. MAUR; OR; AN EARL’s WOOING. 


“ We’ 11 talk about it sometime, sis. I say, has my 
guv’ner been here lately ? ” 

“ No, not since that night.” 

“ They are up to a power o’ mischief, them two is, 
but look e’ here, yer never seen our shop, have yer ? ” 

“ No,” a pause in the occupation. 

“Well, I tell you what, if the Missus will let you off 
some evenin’. I’ll come round and fetch yer ; got lots 
o’ things there I want to show yer, but don’t mention 
it here.” 

“ I should like to come very much, that is if it aint 
wrong and I can get off.” 

“Wrong, yer don’t suppose I’d let yer do anything 
wrong. I aint ther sort, but I thinks yer might have a 
little fun. Now mind, when I makes a fortin’ I’m a 
goin’ to set you up real ladylike.” 

“ Oh, Dan, I believe you would, but you know peo- 
ple sometimes don’t see things in the same light ; but I 
shall be ever so glad, and I wont mention it, because I 
don’t see what harm it could be.” 

“Well, I’ll let yer know. Sometimes the boss goes 
away for a whole day and then I’ll come for you.” 

At this moment a shrill voice from the interior called 
little Fan to further exertions, and so the two parted, 
Daniel proceeding straightway to deliver the money to 
the pawnbroker, minus his own retainer. 

“ It will do very well, very well,” said the miser, as 
he chinked the coin together. “ When did she say she 
would send her message ? ” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 169 


“ She didn’t say when^ but that she’d surely send.” 

“Very well, very well, and I’ll have my revenge 
yet — my revenge.” This was muttered fiercely. “ Ah, 
ah ! my turn will come, and for every stroke I received 
I’ll payback tenfold. I’ll — but never mind, my time 
will come.” He retired to his den, up-stairs, muttering, 
as he went, “ I’ll have them yet, the whole of them, and 
I’ll scorch his heart through her.” 

Whilst this scene was being enacted in that low 
haunt, Lucille was in close conference with the faithful 
housekeeper. 

Mrs. Simpson well remembered “ the young master ” 
when she was a girl at Carleton Park, the news of his 
marriage coming home, and how distressed and dis- 
pleased Sir John was. Refiecting thus, she was very 
much opposed to her young mistress taking any per- 
sonal steps in the matter other than to send relief from 
time to time. 

“ Well, what do you propose to do, child?” she said, 
having exhausted all arguments. 

“ I w’ant to do something that will relieve her per- 
manently.” 

“ That will take a great deal of money, and they do 
say these French women are decidedly extravagant,” 
said the housekeeper. 

“ Now, papa would give me any reasonable sum I 
might ask for, but for so large an amount he would 
naturally want to know what I am going to do with it. 
I was thinking that five hundred pounds would do for 


\ 

170 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

a pretty long time ; and you must remember, whatever 
her conduct has been, that she was the wife of my 
father’s own brother.” 

“ Well, my dear, I have in the bank even a larger 
sum than that. You can take it, to be sure.” 

“ You good old soul,” cried Lucille, affectionately. 
“ You must not think I could have the heart to take 
your little savings.” 

“Well, my child, I have been in the .family a long 
while and have put it aside from time to time; it’s 
never been of any use to me, for I have much more 
as it is than I want. My child, take it in welcome. 
When I come to think of it, I ’ve been an old fool to 
put it by, for I have no one I care to leave it to.” 

“ It ’s ever so kind of you, but dear Mrs. Simpson, I 
could not touch it. But, come, you who have been 
always so good and kind, you must help me now, 
for my heart is bent on this.” 

“ Help you, dear child ! I would help you with my 
life’s blood. But how am I to help you, if you won’t 
let me? You won’t take my money, which. Heaven 
knows, I shall never have use for.” 

“You have promised to help me,” said Lucille, 
brightening up, though affected by the other’s behavior. 
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You know the diamonds 
papa bought me last year. I will take them and obtain 
the money on them.” 

“ And not take mine ? ” 

“ Indeed, I cannot. But here is the card of a man 
from whom I can obtain it.” 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 171 

“Why,” said the housekeeper, taking the card and 
wiping her spectacles, “why, child, this is a pawn- 
broker, and a Jew at that. ‘ Moses Hosier.’ Depend 
upon it, no good comes of this. But tell me what you * 
wish.” 

“Well, then, I will tell you what I wish done. Do 
you know of any place I might go with you and meet 
this man ? ” 

“ There’s Mary Ann Glover’s, my niece. She keeps 
a very respectable lodging-house. We might get the 
loan of her ‘ parlor.’ ” 

“That’s just the thing. We’ll go there — not to- 
morrow night, for we are going to the opera. The 
night after will do, and we will send the message in the 
morning. I do not wish to see — this woman. Papa 
might not like that. You can see her and find out 
what her wants are ; but the what do you call him ? ” — 
glancing at the advertising card — “the pawnbroker 
we can meet together.” 

“ Hadn’t you better put it off a little longer ? ” said 
the housekeeper, hoping to gain time. 

“ No ; you promised to do what I asked,” said the 
other, “ so you can’t refuse. And I wan’t to do every- 
thing myself.” 

“Well, I will do as you say. But suppose people 
hear of it ? ” 

“ What do I care what people say ? ” cried the inde- 
pendent spirit of Lucille. “ I feel that I am doing right. 
So, to-morrow, call upon your niece and make the 
arrangements.” 


172 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


“ It’s a long walk.” 

“Well, get a cab and ride,” broke in Lucille. “I’ve 
never been in a cab, and it will be great fun.” 

“My child, I shouldn’t like any one to see you 
riding in a cab ; but there, there, I will make no more 
objections.” 

“ That’s a real good soul, just as you are ; ” and with 
this sweet approval from her well-loved young mistress, 
the old housekeeper went off to do everything in her 
power to further the object and please her pet. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 173 


CHAPTER XVI. 

TRICKED. 

N ext day, the pawnbroker received a message 
stating where and when Miss Carleton would 
see him. Chuckling inwardly at the seemingly smooth 
sailing of his schemes, he made further preparation as 
a part of his plans, by going that night to “ Stalker’s 
Varieties.” This was one of that class of places 
not only indigenous to London, but numerous in all 
large cities — a low, wide front, with great gilt letters 
its entire breadth. These were brilliantly illumi- 
nated at night, proclaiming to the amusement-seeking 
public that this was “Stalker’s London Varieties.” 
Upon the inside, in perfect keeping with the outer 
appearance, was a long, wide, low-ceiled apartment, at 
the further end of which a raised platform or stage 
extended its whole width. In front of this — in fact 
occupying nearly the entire floor — were a number of 
small tables, at which were seated the audience, who 
signalled their approval of the third-rate actors and 
actresses who might claim their attention by loud 
whistling, stamping, or bringing the bottoms of their 
mugs and glasses with thundering claps upon the table. 

In conjunction with one or two other lads, it was 
Daniel’s place to fix upon and remove from the stage 


174 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


such pieces of furniture and stage scenery as should be 
required through the various performances, in addition 
to which he had to assist in serving the drinks. In this 
last capacity, Daniel would often stop in open-mouthed, 
silent admiration, at some wonderful trick of a very 
poor juggler, an intricate step in the clog dance, or an 
especially funny song, until reminded of his proper 
sphere by the sonorous cry from his customers. 

It was here that Rosa Spiggott, the innkeeper of 
Wentworth’s erring daughter, had, after the short 
vicissitudes of Paris and London life, wound up. 
Though the lines of nightly dissipation were plainly 
marked, still she was very pretty. Her face had not 
yet lost the freshness of youth, and Stalker, the propri- 
etor, considered her his best card and chief attraction. 
The girl was smart, apt at imitation, and her talents 
for the impersonation of characters almost surprising. 

“ Rosa, the old man wants to see you to-night, and 
says he’ll meet you outside after a bit.” This was said 
by Daniel, in one of those moments when a requisite 
change brought them in close proximity. 

“ What for ? I don’t owe him anything.” 

“ He wants to see you pertickler. I kind o’ thinks 
there some’at in it, cos he’s been actin’ werry curious 
these last few days, a sendin’ me of a precious lot o’ 
errands.” 

“ You tell him to come back here at the end of the 
last piece and I ’ll see him. The mean old miser ! I don’t 
expect he wants to pay the door money ; but he ’ll have 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 175 


to do that, because Mr. Slimthing is going to take me 
to supper, after the performance is over, and I don’t 
want to be seen talking to such a miserable old wretch. 
So just tell him if he wants to see me he ’ll have to 
come in here.” 

Half an hour after this, as the actress was changing 
her soiled satin stage slippers for ordinary walking 
shoes, the Jew glided behind the scenes. 

“ Why, Rosa, how handsome you look. I’m so glad 
to see you.” 

“ I believe you,” she replied ; “ you are always glad 
to see me when I can be of any use, and I know you 
are after something now ; but I can tell you one thing, 
Mister, I don’t want any more like that we had last 
time. I ’ve had enough of that.” 

She was arranging her bonnet before a cracked 
mirror, preparatory to leaving. 

“ Oh ! Rosa, how can you talk so, and you got it all, 
everything ? ” 

“ Everything! I got five pounds, and I expect you 
got fifty. No, I tell you once for all, I ’ve had enough 
of blackmailing business. If I’d have known you 
were going so far, I never would have done it. How- 
ever, no use crying over spilt milk, but if it ’s anything 
like that you might as well keep it to yourself, for I ’ll 
have nothing to do with it.” 

“ Hush ! don’t talk so loud,” whispered the Jew, in 
the greatest consternation; “don’t talk so loud,” he 
whispered excitedly, looking to see if they were undis- 


176 ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


covered. “Indeed, indeed, I got but one pound; that’s 
all that was left after yours.” 

She turned full upon him with unblushing eye. 
“You are lying now,” she said; “it’s no use to try it 
on with me. I haven’t been living these last three 
years for nothing, and you’ve got Dick in a nice place, 
haven’t you ? I know your wicked heart, and if you 
don’t get Slummer’s Dick out pretty soon, why — you 
know me, and you know I’ll do what I say. I don’t 
suppose you were aware he was a friend of mine ? ” 

“ Oh, Rosa, oh, Rosa, and he near murdered me ; but 
I didn’t know he was a friend of yours. I did not, 
indeed.” 

“Well, you see to his getting out,” said the impetu- 
ous girl, perhaps not so very much displeased, as Dan’l 
had suggested that Richard was out of the way just at 
present. It did suit her purposes better, and therefore 
she used no further urging, but continued, “go on 
now, what is it you want ? ” 

“Is there no one about?” said he, examining the 
walls and doors, “ no one that might hear us ? Hadn’t 
we better go out on the street ? ” 

“ There ’s no one to hear, everybody ’s gone ; don’t 
you see the lights are out? So make haste, there ’s a 
gentleman waiting for me.” 

The Jew then detailed his wants. She was to appear, 
on the following evening, at Mrs. Glover’s lodging- 
house in the character of a French lady, who was 
in great poverty, and to be attired accordingly. As 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 177 


she had obtained a fair knowledge of the language 
during her sojourn at Paris, it seemed to suit very 
well. 

“And, Rosa, here ’s a pound to begin with. You see 
I ’m in earnest, and — and here ’s two, Rosa.” 

Rosa took the money with as much alacrity as the 
J e w was loth in parting with it, promising to assist 
him, and he knew she would keep her faith. 

“But, Rosa, one word more — just a moment,” and 
he stroked his beard complacently, questioning the 
effect of what he was about to communicate; hut 
money, money would do it. “ Mr. Squint and I have 
a little plan ” 

“Mr. Squint,” she said contemptuously, “and so 
you’ve taken him into your counsels, what a precious 
pair you are, to be sure. I would ’nt give that for 
him,” with a snap of her fingers. “Oh! I know 
him, you and he would just about do to go together ; 
but what’s this new scheme you two have patched 
together ? I’ll be bound there’s no good in it to any 
but yourselves.” 

“Well, Rosa, we want a baby — a little baby — a 
nice little baby boy.” 

The girl was silent from astonishment. Could she 
have heard correctly ? 

“A baby!” 

“ Yes, Rosa, a nice little baby boy.” 

The girl discontinuing her toilet sat down to recover 
her surprise. 

11 


178 ST. mauk; oe, an earl’s wooing. 

“What do you mean? You are crazy. I’ve got no 
baby.” 

“ But you can get us one ; how many poor mothers 
are starving and would be glad to obtain a home for 
their youngest born. Oh ! it can be managed, it can 
be managed, and you can have the care of the child if 
you desire, or doubt us.” 

“ I don’t like the looks of this,” she said. “ What 
do you intend to do ? ” 

“ There ’s a hundred pounds in it, Rosa ; ay, a 
thousand, if we succeed. We are going to make an 
heir of him — the possessor of untold wealth, and will 
make him happy as a king — and get our little commis- 
sion into the bargain.” 

“ I haven’t time to talk about this now,” said she, 
hastily arising. “ It ’s a nice sum of money, but there ’s 
risk in it. You must go now; I can’t keep the gentle- 
man waiting any longer.” 

Thus dismissing him, she went out to join the Hon. 
Mr. Slimthing, at the supper that she was invited to. 

On the next night, the Jew, punctual to appoint- 
ment, was duly established in Mrs. Glover’s parlor, 
with Rosa, in excellent disguise. Mrs. Simpson, the 
housekeeper, was the first, according to her own 
arrangements, to enter the room, constituting herself 
a sort of advance guard, to reconnoitre the position, 
before allowing her young mistress to enter the field. 
Miss Carleton was in an adjoining room. This prelim- 
inary inspection was gotten through quite satisfactorily 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 179 


by the old lady. Her questions, put to the pretended 
foreign lady, were answered in broken French, in a 
pathetic tone ; and at last, when in the shadowy light, 
the veil was partly raised, displaying a still fair but 
pallid face with deep marks of care upon it, then 
indeed were the sympathies of Mrs. Simpson enlisted ; 
and when told it would be against the wish of the 
Baronet for Miss Carleton to meet her, it was with the 
deepest distress that Madame received it ; but natural 
that she should not further urge her desire for a per- 
sonal interview. 

With very complacent thoughts the housekeeper 
guided the pawnbroker to where Lucille was. 

“ Good-evening, my lady, good-evening,” said Moses 
Mosler, in his gentlest tone, as he made a low obeisance. 
“ Ah ! it is easy to tell that the young lady is from the 
country. There is no bloom like unto the bloom of 
health, from the fresh, pure air. We, poor towns- 
people, are obliged to breathe an atmosphere so thick 
with fogs that one can scarcely see through.” Here 
he ended with a suppressed fit of coughing. 

Then Mrs. Simpson made a low-voiced report of 
Madame Carle ton’s deplorable condition. Meantime, 
the Jew stood humbly waiting until Lucille addressed 
him. 

“I believe you carry on the business of lending 
money upon jewelry ? ” 

“ Yes, my lady. It is a very poor business. Were it 
not for kind friends who help me, I could not live by 


180 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

it ; but if I can do any little thing to oblige so beauti- 
ful a lady, I will try my utmost.” 

This compliment was most distasteful to the recipi- 
ent, so she cut him short by producing the case of 
jewels. The old man’s covetous eyes sparkled as he 
held out his shaking hands to receive them. 

“ How much might my lady wish to obtain upon 
them?” 

“ Five hundred pounds.” 

“ Five hundred pounds ! It is too much — too 
much ! ” # 

“ They cost a thousand, I believe.” 

“ Let me see,” answered the old man, examining 
them attentively, and carefully weighing each between 
his fingers, thrusting them in the direction of the light, 
then shaking his head slowly. “ It is too much, my 
lady. Five hundred pounds is a very large sum, and 
if anything should happen to the lady, my money 
would be lost ; and I know she would not wish that to 
a poor man like me.” 

“ What will you propose to do?” said Lucille, rather 
irritated at his seeming irresolution. 

“ Let me see, my lady. Let me think,” and he 
paused a moment in reflection. “ I have not so much 
money myself, but I have a brother — a good and 
generous brother.” Then looking up, as if deter- 
minedly, “ you shall have it, my lady. I know my 
brother will help me out ; he has money ; he is very 
rich, and I will see him this very night.” 


ST. maur; OR, AN earl’s wooing. I8l 


, “ You will take the jewels, and give me the money. 
I trust that I shall soon be able to return it,” said 
Lucille, “ and then I shall be entitled to receive them 
back, in precisely the condition they are now.” 

“ Oh ! yes, my lady. When you pay me, I shall 
deliver them to you, just as they are now. I have an 
excellent place to keep them securely;” then in a 
lower and more confidential tone, “ is not the money 
for yon woman — for Madame Carle ton? ” 

“ That is what I intend it for.” 

“ Then, my lady,” said he, closing the box and 
holding tightly to it, “ I will just pay it over to her, 
and save you further trouble in the matter ; that is, if 
you are satisfied.” 

Lucille looked at Mrs. Simpson. That is what she 
says — that you can entrust anything for her to this 
man,” corroborated the housekeeper. 

“Then,” said Lucille, “give the money to her. I 
suppose I am to retain your card ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, lady ; that secures the return of the jewels. 
And now, since our little business is settled, all that 
remains for me is respectfully to take my leave.” 

With a cringing bow and backward movement, he 
made his exit. 

After the pawnbroker and his accomplice had gotten 
well out of the way, Lucille and her chaperon were 
driven home again. 

In her own boudoir^ Lucille — who, the reader will 
perceive, knew nothing of the pecuniary realities of 


182 ST. maur; or^ ak earl’s wooing. 


life, else she would not so easily have parted with the 
valuable jewels — questioned Mrs. Simpson about the 
widow, and ascertained that she looked faded and 
sorrow -stricken and that she spoke English imper- 
fectly. But the old lady had an uneasy feeling that 
this was not to be the end. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 183 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MADAME CAELETON. 

T he real Madame Carleton reclined in her rather 
contracted apartments in Paris. She had passed 
through many vicissitudes of fortune. Her record as 
maid, wife and widow was not especially sans •peur or 
sans reprocJie, By mere accident, she had been with 
her husband in his last and brief illness, which was 
induced by dissipation, and a not costly funeral, pro- 
vided from her almost empty purse, was all that she 
could afford. 

Madame’s one ruling passion was ambition. She had 
never succeeded beyond a certain half-way point, but 
would have made any sacrifice to obtain fame in the 
ballet as a danseuse. She had been pretty, and was 
mistress of all the secrets by which professional ladies 
contrive to preserve the semblance of youth, beauty and 
fine figure long after they have departed. Madame had 
always led her present life, except for a few years after 
marriage; but the fascination was too great, and she 
had returned with more zeal than ever. 

Her apartments were high up, airy and bright, but 
this is all that might be said in their favor. As she 
reclined, there was a knock at the door. Her servant 
informed her that a gentleman desired to speak with 


184 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

her, and that he had been looking everywhere for 
Madame. 

It had been some time since gentlemen had looked 
for her. There was a faint possible hope it might be 
one of her old admirers returned. 

“A gentleman to see me? What does he look 
like?” 

“ Perhaps Madame will let me answer that question 
in person. Excuse me, but I am most anxious to see 
you, my business is most pressing.” And he handed 
her a soiled card, upon which appeared the name of 
“Mr. Theophilus Squint, Attorney-at-law.” 

Madame looked at him inquiringly, and saw a little, 
dried-up, shabby man. 

“ Perhaps you are mistaken in the person you seek,” 
said the lady. 

“ No,” he said, as in answer to that look. “ I have 
the honor of addressing Madame Carleton ? — I mean 
the distinguished lady, who, as Mademoiselle Fran- 
gapani, is well known as the premiere danseuse of 
Europe.” 

This compliment was so effective that, in a short 
time, the two were conversing most confidentially, and, 
with infinite subtlety, the London pettifogger was able, 
without dread of alarming her, to suggest Madame’s 
participation in his schemes. 

In their long conversation, he told her that Sir John 
Carleton, who was very stern and indexible, far from 
increasing the annual pension which he had given her 


ST. MAUR; OR^ AN EARL's WOOING. 185 


as his only brother’s widow, had determined to with- 
draw, or, at least, diminish it, but she had good 
friends, who were willing to protect her from such 
machinations. “But,” he added, in a consoling and 
protective manner, “ there is a sure way of circumvent- 
ing him.” 

Her cupidity and attention being thus excited, he 
suggested that she had the power of commanding a 
large income through her son. 

The poor woman was bewildered. “ But I have no 
son,” she exclaimed. 

“ No son, Madame ? Think for a moment.” And he 
paused, as if to allow meditation. 

The lady pondered. Could she have a son ? Could 
women unconsciously have children ? 

The lawyer interrupted her thoughts with, “ Madame, 
if you have not a son just at present, you will have a 
son in due season. Everything depends upon this.” 

Perhaps he was making an offer of marriage ? He 
might be eccentric in this particular. She had not the 
slightest objection to matrimony, however suddenly 
proposed ; but Mr. Squint divined the current of her 
reflections. 

“ I will explain,” he said. “ Sir John Carleton is a 
millionaire. His estates are strictly entailed upon the 
male issue, in the event of there being such. At pres- 
ent, they will descend in an entirely different line, and 
these very estates ought to be yours, Madame, through 
your son. To this fact I pledge myself, and I never 


186 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

deceive my clients. Yes,” he continued, “this large 
estate will be snatched from you, the lawful owner — 
will be taken by main force. Therefore, I have come, 
unsolicited, to you — solely having your interest in 
view — to estop this terrible wrong. It remains for 
you, Madame, to say if this iniquitous thing shall be 
done ? ” 

“ Is this really true ? ” exclaimed the confused 
woman. “ If so, what can I do to prevent it ? ” 

“ Do ? It is very plain what you ought to do,” said 
the lawyer, with a sneering smile as if there was no 
doubt about it. “ Listen ! Sir John is in delicate health. 
He may die at any moment, and if he lingers we will 
still have our forces in reserve to be brought forth at 
the right moment; you are but a widow of a few 
months. Go into seclusion for a short time. We will 
provide a child, a male child, if we have to beg, borrow 
or steal one. A physician will be in attendance. Every- 
thing necessary shall be provided, and then at the 
proper time produce the young heir. Do you under- 
stand me, Madame ? Do you take my meaning in ? ” 
and Mr. Squint drew forth a pewter snuff box, helping 
himself liberally to the contents, whilst allowing the 
lady time to take in his suggestion. 

Even her contracted intellect understood that after 
due signs and certain retirement she was to reappear as 
the mother of an infant boy, the posthumous child of 
her late husband. Madame had done many wrongs, 
even some wicked things, but never aught like this, and 
her withered cheek turned a shade paler. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 187 


“They will find me out,” said she simply taking in 
the first, and to her, greatest difficulty in the way. 

Mr. Squint was glad of the hesitation, he knew it 
meant capitulation. 

“Find you out? Leave that to me, and if they do, 
the law has no punishment, take my opinion on that, 
Madame.” 

“ I don’t exactly see how I’m to do it.” 

“You must go to an isolated place,” said he, “and 
since you seem to have some hesitation, I will send the 
child and the physician, a French one if possible. Both 
are easily obtained, and when I send for you, you will 
come to London. If we can but obtain a hold, how- 
ever inconsiderable, upon this man, or the estate, it will 
be a fortune in itself.” 

Madame reluctantly consented, and signed a paper, 
a mere matter of form, it really made little difference, 
but still transferring the management of the prospec- 
tive estate so far as she might be interested, together 
with the guardianship of the heir, also in prospective, to 
the care and tender mercies of Mr. Squint. After this 
Mr. Squint took his leave. 

There was money in his pocket. Good crisp notes 
of the Bank of England, as readily exchanged in Paris 
as at the Bank itself. These had been provided by 
Moses Mosler, and for which a costly pledge had been 
furnished at the hands of the enemy and was safe in 
possession. The pawnbroker’s presage that the cam- 
paign should thus be carried on was surely true. 


188 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


Squint walked down the avenue cogitating, calcula- 
ting. Dates must be made to tally wdth the utmost 
exactness. Circumstances must agree with nice pre- 
cision. So fully was he engrossed in these lubrications 
that he took little care to avoid the passing crowd, 
when he was roughly jostled from behind' by a porter’s 
load, and rudely pushed against a dapper little man who 
happened to be just in front. Mr. Squint’s hat fell to 
the ground and whilst he was engaged in recovering it 
the dapper little gentleman was apologizing verbosely 
for what he had not done. 

Recovering his equilibrium, the lawyer, in no amia- 
ble mood, looked to discover the cause of his mishap, 
and beheld the diminutive individual jabbering French 
at him, not one syllable of which he understood. 

“ Do you say you did it ? ” blurted out the attorney. 

“ Oh ! no, no,” cried the other, this time in good Eng- 
lish, “but I was afraid you might think it was. The 
man who caused it has turned the corner, I am very 
sorry.” 

This considerably mollified the lawyer, who took in 
the situation of affairs. Close by was a caf^ — a 
reminder of nature’s cravings in the way of hunger and 
thirst. His eye fell upon the stranger again. His soul 
was full of generosity. Did not this man speak Eng- 
lish ? He might not have such a second opportunity, 
who could help him better how to order a dinner, or 
who might know the national beverages to greater 
advantage, and so Mr. Squint’s gaze fell upon him 
again with much favor. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. * 189 

“Wait — wait — you’ll take something to drink?” he 
asked. 

The stranger was willing, and after several drinks, 
the attorney became rather confidential. “ Since I have 
been so fortunate,” said he, “ to meet so congenial a 
gentleman, and one who speaks my own language, may 
I ask you to dine with me ? ” 

This was accepted also, and before the end of the 
evening the lawyer had ascertained that his new made 
acquaintance was a physician — without practice — con- 
sequently without money, and poor, very poor. These 
unfortunate circumstances combined, sadly affected his 
sympathies and warped his prejudices, and before Mr. 
Squint had taken leave of Paris, the Frenchman was 
engaged as a valuable instrument in the conspiracy. 


190 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

LITTLE fan’s ADVENTURE. 

HE miser had gone on one of his periodical visits 



I for the day, and^^had left Daniel in full possession 
of the office, with many strict injunctions, the last, but 
not least, of which was, not to leave the place. 

Before he could have got half way upon his journey, 
Daniel was speeding fast towards Mr. Squint’s house, 
and, arriving there, put his fingers to his mouth and 
gave his favorite shrill whistle. This was an understood 
signal to little Fan, who made her appearance, after 
some delay below in the area. 

“ I say, sis, kin you git off to-day ? ” 

On inquiry, her mistress gave her the required per- 
mission, and the girl speedily reappeared, in her bonnet 
and warm shawl, prepared to join him at the moment. 

Daniel first took her to his master’s place, where he 
opened each drawer, emptied every box, and showed 
her all the mysteries of a pawn establishment. Little 
Fan was delighted. While the lad was upon his knees, 
holding up a box from a tobacco-scented receptacle, the 
door quietly opened, and the form of Slummer’s Dick 
darkened the threshold, as he stood irresolutely there. 

Abruptly he inquired where “ the old ’un ” was, and, 
showing by his appearance and manner that he had 


ST. MAUE; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 191 


lately been “ down on his luck,” as he said. He had 
been released from prison, on payment of a fine, small 
in amount, but with difficulty raised for him by a few 
friends, nearly as badly off as himself, and paid his first 
visit, with no friendly feeling, to the domicile of the 
author of his wrongs. He was in very bad spirits, 
owing to the refusal of Slummer, his former employer, 
again to give him any, even the fowest, employment. 

He received, with suspicion and gloom, the intelli- 
gence that the miser had left for the day, that he often 
went down the country by the railroad, and that he 
would be even, when he could find or make a chancre, 
with “ the old ’un,” who had used him so vilely, and had 
pretended that his declining to prosecute had enabled 
his victim to escape without being tried, at the Old 
Bailey, for aggravated assault and highway robbery. 

“I say, Dick, is it very bad there?” said Daniel, 
jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction 
where the prison was. 

“ It’s a werry bad place some ways, but then it learns 
a fellow a heap o’ things he didn’t know before. I 
can’t say as I altogether regrets my stay, though there’s 
some things as isn’t pleasant. If a man’s ’onest when 
he goes in, it’ll soon be took out of him, and, if he’s a 
rascal, he’ll get no better. But it’s no use to keep 
chaffing here. Can you lend a chap five bob ? ” 

Daniel was not one of the lending order of human 
beings, and coolly inquired on what description of 
property, personal or real, the five shillings were to be 


192 ST. MAuii; OK, AN eakl’s wooing. 


advanced, peremptorily declining to do business with- 
out some such security. 

Little Fan had been silently listening all the while, 
and her tender spirit was stricken by the woe-begone 
appearance of poor Dick. So, in the fullness of her 
heart, she pulled out her shabby little purse, and, before 
Daniel was aware of her intention, had counted out five 
shillings — almost the half of a year’s savings — and 
held them out to Richard without a word. 

Daniel saw this act, rapid though it was, and made a 
grab for the money, but Richard, too quick for him, 
caught and held the coin tight in his clutch. 

“ What did you do that fur ? ” he said, angrily turn- 
ing upon his sister. “ Look here, Dick, give ’em back 
to her. She’s my sister. ’Tis all she's got, and I won’t 
see her imposed on.” 

“Indeed I have more,” she said, exposing what 
remained, “and I can do without them very well. 
Indeed I can.” 

“Surely you won’t be such a jail bird as to keep 
them?” replied Daniel. 

“The little lady — for a lady she is, though your 
sister — the little lady gave ’em to me, and I’ll keep 
’em. And now I’ll cut my lucky, wishing all the 
world’s luck to you. Miss. But I am afeard it ’s all up 
with me.” 

After this, Daniel and Fan actual^ closed the 
miser’s den and started for the Zoological Gardens, 
where they passed the afternoon with the wild animals, 


ST. MAURJ OR^ AN EARL’s WOOING. 193 


and lamented that they could spare such a short time 
for that purpose. The dread that “the old ’un” 
might return earlier than was expected also hastened 
them. 

“ Stop a minute,” Daniel said, “ and I’ll put you into 
a ’bus that will take you right on the corner of your 
street.” So saying, he took her back to the pawn-office 
for a moment. 

The lad groped about for a match, when, suddenly, 
a familiar step and voice were heard, and, glancing 
through the window, he saw the Jew, in company with 
Mr. Squint'. Apparently, they had only just met, from 
opposite directions. 

In great affright, for he dreaded his master’s passion, 
when excited, Daniel forced his little sister up the 
rickety stairs into a little niche under them, which 
was called his bedroom, and contained a straw-stuffed 
mattress, with scanty linen and a very light blanket 
and coverlet. Here she would be safe so long as she 
kept quiet. 

Daniel had “ saved his distance,” for, just then, the 
Jew came in, asked for a light, and bade him begone 
as soon as he pleased. He slunk back to his nest, 
where Fan’s excitement was so great that he had much 
trouble in keeping her quiet. After a time, the youth 
snatched a little repose, but the girl listened and took 
in all that the Jew and Squint were saying. It was 
worth listening to. 

Squint had just returned from Paris, and this was his 

12 


194 ST. mauk; ok, AIS- eakl’s wooing. 


first meeting with the Jew after that. The lawyer 
boasted that he had done all that was necessary as to 
the production of the infant boy, who was to be passed 
off as the posthumous son of Sir John Carleton’s widow, 
and, therefore, heir-at-law to the Baronet’s large entailed 
estates. Squint told how he had found a French phy- 
sician, able and willing to assist in the fraud; and the 
Jew bragged of his own cleverness in having already 
provided an infant of the right sex, which Rosa would 
convey to France at the proper time. 

The two. conspirators had nearly quarrelled over a 
demand by Squint, of a further sum of fifty pounds, 
towards current expenses of the job. The attorney 
spoke of the risk to himself — “ a professional man of 
high standing ” was his self-designation — and said : “If 
you want to conspire against the estate of Sir John 
Carleton and bring ruin upon the young lady. Miss 
Carleton, I mean ” — 

“ Ah ! ” cried the Jew, breathing hard, and holding 
his long, bony hands out, like a vulture’s claws, “ don’t 
speak her name — don’t call her ‘young lady ’ — don’t — 
don’t — I hate them all ! ” And his frame shook in a 
paroxysm of uncontrollable rage. “ I’ll do anything,” 
he continued, “ anything you say, to crush the whole 
brood out. I’d hill her, to rack Ms heart ! ” and he 
paced the floor like a caged beast. 

Gradually his rabid rage abated. Squint received his 
fifty pounds, and both left the house, on the latter’s 
invitation to take refreshments at Slummer’s. 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 195 


When they had retired, Dick liberated his sister, 
who was sharp, if small, and, half lifting her, half 
carrying her, down the steps, guided her out of the 
den, saying, “Mind, you keep right straight down the 
next square, then go on a bit to your left, and take a 
’bus, that will set you right down almost at your own 
door.” 

The result of these rather indefinite instructions was 
that poor little Fan, her mind confused by the villainy 
she had overheard, and troubled by a dread of her 
mistress’s anger for her long delay, wandered very 
much out of her way. She must have been deficient in 
the organ of Locality, for she came, after much wan- 
dering, into a broad, fashionable and brilliantly-lighted 
street. She accosted various persons, with a moaning 
request to tell her the way to her home, and was 
variously rebuffed or ridiculed. 

At last, a handsome carriage drove up, with its 
footmen swinging behind. An old gentleman and 
a young lady descended, and entered a brilliantly 
lighted establishment, within whose shadow the poor 
child was then standing. The liveried menials 
laughed at Fannie’s tearful enquiries; but, at that 
moment, the bazaar door opened, and the gentleman 
and lady reappeared. The footman darted back to his 
place at the carriage door. The lady was about to 
get in, when, attracted by little Fannie’s sobs, she 
asked : 

“ What is the matter with that child ? ” 


196 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

The footman, touching his hat, replied : 

“ Lost her way. Miss, I believe.” 

“ Papa, won’t you wait a moment ? ” said Lucille 
Caiieton, for she it was, as turning to the sobbing 
child : “ Are you lost, little girl ? ” 

“ Please, my lady, I only want to know where I 
live. If somebody would but tell me. Please, kind 
lady, wont you tell me ? ” and she held up her little 
hands entreatingly. 

Lucille took her pityingly, and led her toward the 
carriage. Papa, here is a little girl who is lost. 
Will you let me take her to her home? ” 

“ It’s getting late,” said her father, glancing at his 
watch ; we have scarcely time to get in for dinner 
now ; but do as you please, my child.” 

“ Oh! yes, papa. Little girl, where do you live? ” 

“ Kind lady, I don’t know,” said the little maid, 
anxiously, looking up into the gentle face with the 
utmost confidence. 

“Whom do you live with?” said Sir John, leaning 
forward, perceiving the difficulty* 

“ Please, sir, I work for Mrs. Squint, and I ’m out 
so dreadful late, that I don’t know what will become 
of me.” 

“ Who is Mr. Squint ? ” 

“ Oh, sir, he ’s a lawyer.” 

“James,” said he, “step in there, ask for a directory, 
and find out.” 

-The footman presently returned with the address, 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 197 

and gave it to the coachman. By this time, Fannie 
had been ensconced on the front seat, opposite her new 
friends. 

After a half hour’s drive she recognized the corner 
grocery and the apothecary’s, and exclaimed : 

“ Here it is ! ” 

Sir John pulled the cord, the carriage halted, and 
fortunate Fan was put down within a few doors of 
her own home. The driver wheeled, and was about 
to trot off, when she rushed back and, at imminent risk 
of being run over, clambered upon the steps again, 
thrusting her face into the window. 

“ Please, kind lady, beautiful lady, will you tell me 
your name ? ” 

“ Miss Carle ton ; ” and the vehicle rolled off. 

Little Fan looked after it for a moment undecided, 
then tried to follow a few steps, and stopping, walked 
slowly back, thinking : “ Could this be the lady she 

heard Mr. Squint and the money-lender talking of? 
It surely was ‘Miss Carleton.’ She remembered the 
name distinctly ; but ” — and here Mrs. Squint an- 
swered her tremulous rap at the door, and, most fortu- 
nately, was in an unexpectedly good humor, which 
made her disdain even to grumble at her. 


198 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE RIDE. 

S UMMER had come. Sir John Carleton is back at 
Carleton Park ; Lord St. Maur at Maurland 
Towers. Bessie Egerton has accompanied Lucille on 
her return. In the meantime, Mrs. Cashbid is left 
disconsolate. Mr. Cashbid is likewise affected. The 
girl’s bright, cheerful presence has become a necessity. 
He has. relented from his first decision, affecting “ the 
rest of the family,” and, through the proper channels, 
a sufficient sum has reached Bessie’s mother, to make 
them all comfortable ; an amount which the twice- 
widowed woman considered wealth and superfluity. 

Rufus Applegarth migrated between the city and 
Wentworth. Sir John’s pressing invitation to him to 
stay at Carleton Park, was frequently accepted, when 
the two would seem to be lost deep in the mysteries of 
chemical science. Sometimes he was a guest of the 
Rev. Hugh Leslie, at the Rectory, sometimes at the 
Great George Inn, once at Maurland Towers — every- 
where welcomed as the friend of the Baronet, and a 
man whose conversation, when he conversed at all, was 
of rare merit. Especially kind to the villagers, he 
attended their wants in his medical capacity, without 
remuneration. Some of the most hopeless cases which 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 199 


surgery had long despaired of, yielded to his judgment 
and skill, until the mothers, whose children’s deformed 
limbs he had brought to a more natural shape, 
spread his reputation far and wide, and offers for hand- 
some London partnerships, and lucrative practices, 
flowed in upon him. These he cared not for, nor took 
notice of, following his own restless inclinations as 
they might lead ; but there seemed to be ever a burden 
upon his mind, a distant, absent look, and even the 
villagers, who from kind offices had grown to love 
him, admitted that he was “ kind o’ right queer.” 

Sometimes, when engaged in the laboratory with the 
Baronet, who saw the depression of spirits and tried in 
every way to avoid the subject, he would pause in his 
occupation to question of the past, showing v/here his 
mind was still brooding. Then the other would 
answer readily, but quickly, and lead him back to 
other themes ; but there was one question he contin- 
ually asked himself, and which could not be answered : 
“Was his father living?” 

Lucille and Bessie managed to pass the time delight- 
fully. Left principally to themselves and their own 
resources, they would take long drives and rides; 
sometimes, though rarely. Sir John accompanied them ; 
generally a groom rode in the rear, and in this inde- 
pendent fashion, they traversed the country for miles. 

It was one of those days when Bufus Applegarth 
and Sir John had shut themselves up in the extensive 
laboratory for the purpose of experimenting, that 
Lucille and Bessie gladly ran to order the horses. 


200 ST. maur; or^ an earl’s wooing. 

“ Let ’s take a long ride,” cried the former, in high 
spirits, “ away over past Edgecumb and up the Penine 
hills. There is a beautiful view to be seen from the 
top-, though the road is bad.” 

It was one of her most charming characteristics, that 
Lucille, bashful and timid in her behavior before stran- 
gers, never restrained her mirth at home ; and it was at 
these moments, when the full flow of animal spirits 
chased the warm blood over her cheeks and sent the 
brightness into her dark eyes, that she was most beauti- 
ful and fascinating. 

Her father took great pride in his stables, so that the 
horses were soon prepared, and the young ladies, with 
the mounted groom in the rear, set out in high spirits. 
They rode well, and when a good stretch of road per- 
mitted, let their steeds have loosened rein, much to the 
disgust of the groom, who had no fancy for break-neck 
speed, and frequently had to use whip or spur to keep 
up with the fair equestrians, whilst they, heartily en- 
joying their ride, forgot his very existence. On they 
went through Wentworth, past the Great George Inn, 
and, at Lonedrear House paused to breathe their horses, 
and take a look at it. 

“ There’s a very queer story about it,” said Lucille, 
in answer to a question from Bessie. “ I never exactly 
understood, because I could get no one to properly 
explain it. Mrs. Simpson knows all about it, but 
whenever she has been at the point of telling me, some- 
thing has always occurred to interrupt us. Papa knew 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 201 

the gentleman who lived there, quite well, I believe, 
and I think Dr. Applegarth must be some connection 
of his, for I sometimes hear him speak of it.” 

“I know his people first came from England,” re- 
joined Bessie, “ for as soon as we got to London he 
came right down to Wentworth. You could hardly 
conceive how kind he was to me, coming over, and he 
was the only real friend we had in America — thought- 
ful and unselfish — but he has changed very much 
recently. I don’t know what it is, but his mind appears 
uneasy and dejected.” This last was uttered absently, 
almost mournfully. 

“Yes,” replied Lucille, “he is kind and gentle to 
every one. The people around here seem almost to 
worship him. I like him very much, though I can’t 
just make out why it is that at times he is so silent 
and depressed.” 

They passed on until a curve of the road brought 
them in view of long, sloping meadows, and the gently 
rising hills beyond, where, against the dark back-ground 
of forest, Maurland Tower grandly loomed up, its tur- 
rets rising abruptly from the plane of parapets and 
roofs, making a romantic and magnificent sight. 

“ There are the Towers ! ” exclaimed Bessie, as they 
slackened their pace to a walk. “We can get a much 
better view from here than from Carleton Park. How 
grand it looks ! What a lovely place it must be ! Just 
see the gardens, even at this distance, how beautiful 
they are, and I like Lord St. Maur so much. He was 


202 ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 

in onr box at the opera the first night I saw you, and 
was talking to you afterward. I remember now, he 
was taken to Carleton Park when thrown from his 
horse ; Captain Trevellyan told me all about it.” 

“I barely saw him whilst he was there,” replied 
Lucille, remembering the cold, colorless face, with its 
every feature as though cut in marble, and also recol- 
lecting, with some embarrassment, the means of her first 
assistance. “ He appears wholly engrossed in Parlia- 
mentary affairs, though never forgetting his people 
here. All this is Maurlands, extending for miles, as 
far as the eye can reach, I believe. Did you meet him 
often ? ” This was asked indifferently, but there was 
an underlying interest in her voice that would not have 
deceived wiser ears. 

“No,” returned Bessie; “I saw very little of him, 
and then with Captain Trevellyan. He does not seem 
to feel his high position at all, though why his head’s 
not turned by what every one says of him, I can’t con- 
ceive. Do you know his friend. Captain Trevellyan ? ” 

“ I have seen him once, I believe,” answered Lucille. 
“ They have great affection for each other, I’ve under- 
stood.” 

“ Yes, and are very much together,” replied Bessie. 
“Then Captain Trevellyan is so different from the 
young men one expects to find. To be sure, I have met 
but few since here, but he appears different from all, 
except Lord St. Maur. He took me to the ball at the 
Duchess of Farnborough’s, who is Lord St. Maur’s 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 203 


aunt. One of his sisters went with us, and we had 
such a delightful time; and then he was constantly 
making up little parties, and suppers, and was ever so 
kind in a thousand ways, and his sisters are such nice 
girls, they insisted upon taking me everywhere.” 

Bessie always spoke very enthusiastically of Trevel- 
lyan; she liked him for his plain, friendly, honest 
manner. 

“ I like Captain Trevellyan’s face very much,” said 
Lucille, “ but the}^ are very different looking men.” 

“Yes,” replied the other, laughing; “in appearance 
they can scarcely bear comparison. Captain Trevellyan 
puts one in mind of a great, strong, very faithful cham- 
pion, who is ready and willing at all times to risk his 
life for a friend, never taking into consideration the 
causes, or consequences — acting only from an instinct 
of right — while Lord St. Maur is the essence of refined 
aristocracy. His handsome, clear-cut features, his 
whole bearing, his every word bespeaks so plainly the 
noble blood that fills his veins. Lord St. Maur, perhaps, 
from superior intelligence, acts calmly, and from well- 
drawn conclusions derived from deep study of books 
and nature, especially strange in one of his years; 
whilst Captain Trevellyan’s conceptions and conclusions 
come simultaneously, and, therefore, it might be said he 
acts from impulse ; but however arrived at, the end of 
their convictions, in most instances, would be the same. 
And in any emergency, I venture to say — never mind 
how wide apart they might be separated — both would 
act alike under the same circumstances. 


204 ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 

“There is one thing/’ continued Bessie, “lacking 
which Lord St. Maur’s life is incomplete, and that is, 
some one to care for, something to love, for he seems 
never to have found an object sufficient for this as yet.” 

“There is Captain Trevellyan,” ventured Lucille, 
“ I thought he was very fond of him.” 

“ Oh, yes,” returned the other, “ but that is in an 
entirely different sense. Men cannot feel that gentle 
affection, or deep love for each other, that is called 
forth by a woman. From what I have seen. Lord St. 
Maur, however he may dissemble it under a cold and 
indifferent guise, is a man of deep and powerful emo- 
tions. In the women around him he cannot find that 
which his heart — it may be unknown to his own con- 
sciousness — longs and pines for.” 

“Well,” cried Lucille, laughing lightly, “his ears 
must be tingling, though I expect he’d hold our opin- 
ions light either one way or the other. We’ve had a 
long talk about men in general, and Lord St. Maur in 
particular,” and glancing back, “just see how far we’ve 
come ; why, you can scarcely see the Towers, and look ! 
what a level stretch in front, so let’s have a canter.” 
And away they flew, on through the road, with pretty 
green hedges upon either side, here and there a cottage 
or field gate breaking the even lines. On they went as 
though the beasts could never tire ; on faster and faster 
until the horses were racing at their topmost speed. 

At last sheer exhaustion caused steeds and riders to 
halt. The reins were thrown loosely on the animals’ 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 205 


necks, which, with heads hung down, stood panting, 
thoroughly blown, whilst the fair equestrians, loosening 
their hats, smoothed their ruffled tresses and seated 
themselves afresh in the saddles. 

“ Wasn’t that a splendid run ? ” said Lucille, patting 
her favorite’s neck ; “ we must have made a good three 
miles that stretch.” 

Nothing could have formed a fairer picture than the 
two girls mounted on the keen-limbed, blooded steeds, 
the breezes playing through their disheveled tresses, 
and with a brilliant color in their cheeks from the unu- 
sual exercise. 

“But where’s our groom?” exclaimed Bessie. 

“ I don’t suppose he could keep up,” rejoined the 
other, also missing him ; “ he’ll have a chance of catch- 
ing up now, while our horses are resting. I shouldn’t 
be surprised if he’d stopped at that last tavern we 
passed ; they all have a habit of doing so when oppor- 
tunity allows, and here comes some one, too ; I do wish 
he’d come,” she said, nervously and impatiently. A 
horseman was approaching. 

“ I hope it’s no one that we know,” continued Lucille, 
“ it’s so awkward to be seen here by ourselves.” She 
was vexed, or perhaps, if anything, felt awkward, as she 
expressed it. The color was increasing in her face, 
forming, with its contrast against the dark wealth of 
chestnut hair, a glorious beauty. 

“ I do believe it’s Lord St. Maur,” asserted Bessie, 
shading her eyes. “ I don’t mind him a bit.” 


206 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

She was right ; it was Lord St. Maur, who had been 
inspecting the farther portions of his estate, and was 
returning this way, looking very handsome as he ap- 
proached, raising his hat, his figure showing to advan- 
tage in the well-fitting riding suit. Bessie advanced a 
little to meet him. 

“ Good morning. Miss Egerton,” he said, easily, and 
with great friendliness, whilst bowing his head a little 
lower and speaking more distantly to the other. “Are 
you lost so far away from home ? ” 

Bessie answered “no. We started for a long ride — 
to the Penine hills — to see a noted view, and outran 
our groom. I suppose our pace was too fast for him.” 

St. Maur rode to an adjacent bend in the road, which 
commanded a longer view, and the missing groom did 
not appear, probably having gone on the road to the 
left — over a mile distant — not having been told how 
far the ladies intended to ride. St. Maur rejoiced, as it 
ensured his own necessary escort of the fair equestrians. 

“ I hope you will continue your ride,” he said, “ and 
allow me to accompany you. It would be too bad that 
you should turn back when you had nearly reached 
your destination, and it would give me so much pleas- 
ure.” This last was spoken in an almost pleading 
voice. 

The color flushed into Lucille’s cheeks, as she 
said : “ I think, since we ’ve come so far, we might as 

well keep on, if Lord St. Maur is quite sure it will not 
inconvenience him.” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 207 


They proceeded more slowly now, and by the time 
they had reached the beginning of the long ascent to 
the top of the hills all reserve had vanished, and they 
were perfectly at ease. 

The narrow winding way went in zigzag courses, up 
the rough, stony sides of the prominence, the recent 
rains having washed the earth out, leaving great boul- 
ders in the path, which the horses, with some diffculty, 
had frequently to climb over, so that single file was 
maintained, and all were too busily engaged in picking 
out the way to talk, excepting an exclamation now and 
then. At last the top was reached, and as the atmos- 
phere was exceedingly clear, their labor and trouble was 
fully repaid. 

An open space, or table land of rock, with even sur- 
face, covered the crowning ridge, the approach was 
from the rear, whilst in front was a precipice many 
hundred feet in sheer descent. St. Maur dismounted 
and throwing the bridle loosely over his arm advanced 
near to the ledge. “ If you will come closer,” said he 
to the other two who were holding back, “you can 
obtain a much better view: there is absolutely no 
danger. I will hold your horses in check.” 

Stretched out below were miles upon miles of beau- 
tiful country. Towns, villages, forests and winding 
streams dotted the landscape, whilst more immediately 
beneath, the peasants tilling, and the cattle grazing in 
the fields could be distinctly seen. The three gazed 
enraptured at the sight. 


208 ST. MAUK; OKj an earl’s wooing. 

“Is not that Wentworth, away over to our right?” 
said Lucille. 

“ Yes,” replied he. “ You can just see the chimneys 
of Carleton Park rising over the trees beyond.” 

“ I can just make them out,” she answered. 

“ Is not Maurland Towers just visible through this 
opening?” inquired Bessie. 

“ Yes,” said St. Maur. “ I can see this point very 
plainly from the windows, it is one of its prettiest 
vistas.” 

“ How plainly it shows even here,” said Lucille. “ I 
suppose that it is because it is such a great building. 
How far do you suppose it is ? ” 

“ It must be twelve or fifteen miles at least,” 
returned he. 

“I should imagine it was fully that,” said Bessie. 
“ Just think how far we’ve come.” A fleecy cloud was 
floating over, for an instant hiding the sun, but its rays 
escaping through the rifts, fell partially about Went- 
worth and seemed to centre upon the walls of Maur- 
land Towers, lightening them up resplendently for a 
moment. 

“ See how grand it appears now,” she continued, call- 
ing their attention. “ Do you know. Lord St. Maur, 
that we were just saying, before you came up, how happy 
you must, or rather ought to be. I^do so want to see 
all the grand things that Capt. Trevellyan has told me 
of there, especially the gardens and conservatories, they 
must be perfectly beautiful.” 


ST. maur; on , an earl’s wooing. 209 


“ Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to 
show them to you, if I could only induce you to come 
and see them. As you say, I am, or rather ought to 
be particularly happy at this moment,” he continued 
smiling, “ it would be a very surly fellow indeed, who 
would not be so in my place ; especially since I have 
been the subject of two young ladies’ conversation. 
What were your judgments, good, bad, or indifferent?” 

“A little of each,” rejoined Bessie. To tell you 
it was all of the first might endue you with what 
you haven’t yet — vanity. To tell you it was all of 
the second would be a prevarication, and as to the 
last — well, that would be partly an untruth too, so you 
can imagine anything you please. But I did not think 
that you were given to compliments, they don’t seem 
natural to you.” 

“ Believe me,” said he earnestly, looking at Lucille. 
“ Since you have taken the trouble to think about it at 
all,” — with a peculiarly sweet smile, and it may be 
slightly lower — “I am very happy at present. You 
are right. Miss Egerton; I rarely pay compliments, 
because I do not think it is right to say what we may 
neither mean nor believe, and compliments are usually 
of that class. In what I say I always try to express 
my own feelings truthfully.” 

“ No one could ever mistake you,” rejoined Bessie, 
warmly. “ I like to see men fearless in their expression, 
who never try to wound or salve over.” 

“ I wish we had brought a field glass,” said Lucille, 

13 


210 ST. maur; or, an earl's wooing. 


“ we might descry our truant groom. Probably he is 
awaiting our return in a shady nook, or regaling him- 
self over a tankard of ale. We had better turn back 
now. It is a lovely view. I’m very glad that we 
came.” 

After giving a last lingering look they turned and 
commenced the descent. 

The coming up had been difficult, but to go down was 
far worse — the rolling stones and narrow washed-out 
gulleys making it anything but pleasant, not to say 
dangerous. St. Maur took the lead and tried to pick 
out the easiest paths, whilst the others followed closely. 
Whilst in this order, the horses walking at the bottom 
of a deep gutter filled with loose rocks, so deep that 
the ladies’ riding skirts dragged along the edges. 
Lucille’s horse stumbled and went down on his knees. 
Her feet instantly touched the ground, and she found 
herself standing upon good firm earth, with the reins 
still in her hand, whilst the horse was in the act of 
rising beside, though somewhat beneath, her. 

In an instant St. Maur was at her side. He was too 
good a horseman not to know, by a glance at the situ- 
ation, that she was not injured. 

“ Are you frightened — is your horse hurt?” said he, 
quickly, gently taking the reins from her hand. 

She was not scared, but even the best of horsemen 
or horsewomen will feel a little nervous from the 
shock of finding themselves quickly displaced from a 
firm seat in the saddle and transported suddenly to the 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 211 


earth. Raising her riding-habit from around her feet, 
she stepped back, letting St. Maur take possession of 
the reins. 

“ I am not frightened,” she said, “ but fear my horse 
is hurt.” 

The animal was resting all his weight upon one leg. 
St. Maur got down in the gully and lifting his foot, 
reported him quite lame. 

“ Oh! I am so sorry,” murmured Lucille. 

It was her own palfrey, that her father had given her, 
and in her sympathy for her favorite, she forgot her 
own situation. St. Maur had not. 

“ I will change your saddle to my horse,” he said. 

“ Then what will you do ? she exclaimed. 

“ Oh I walk, to be sure,” he laughed, “ and lead your 
horse.” 

“ But I don’t want you to do that.” 

“ I can’t see what else we can do,” said he. 

“ Why can not I walk ? ” She knew perfectly well 
he would’nt let her, but she would have proposed any- 
thing rather than put him to more trouble. 

‘‘ If you only knew how your suggestion pained me, 
you would scarcely make it,” he replied in a lower 
tone, all the time changing the saddles and continuing : 
“ A lady has never been on my horse, but he is very 
gentle, and, I will answer for it, behaves well.” By 
this time he had readjusted the saddles. 

“ Come,” said he, “ it’s all ready.” 

“ She came forward. St. Maur held his hand for her 


212 ST. MAURJ OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 

to place her foot in. She had never mounted in this 
way before. 

“ How am I to get up ? ” she enquired doubtfully. 

“ Place your foot in my hand,” he answered, “ and 
use it as a stepping block.” 

“ This was novel to her« She did not know what to 
do.. There was no help for it, no way of getting out 
of it. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do it,” said she: hesitatingly, 
wishing to gain time- 

“Oh, don’t fear,” he rejoined smiling, “it’s very 
easily done, believe me.” 

During this epilogue Bessie had sauntered a little 
ahead ; she turned now, and seeing the cause of hesita- 
tion, cried ; “Don’t be afraid, Lucille, I have often 
done it. It’s very easy.” 

“ You see. Miss Egerton does’nt mind it, so you 
might as well submit with a good grace.” He knew her 
diffidence and shyness, and glanced round to discover 
if there were a log or stump near, for he saw her 
embarrassment ; but there was nothing in sight that 
would answer, so added : “ There’s no help for it.” 

“ I will try,” she said, coming forward, but feeling 
very foolish and awkward, and in her confusion putting 
up the wrong foot. 

“No, that’s wrong, the other foot,” he said. 

“Just see how awkward I am — this one? and she 
held up her dainty little foot just peeping out from 
under the skirt. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 213 

“ Yes, that’s right, but you’ve hardly given me hold 
enough — now then — up I ” 

Lucille sprang, but she had been too chary with her 
foot ; she managed to grasp the pommel, but the animal, 
although very gentle, being unaccustomed to a riding 
habit, edged slightly off and down she came, and would 
have fallen had not St. Maur caught her in his arms. 

“ There ! I told you how awkward I was,” she 
exclaimed, turning crimson, and quickly releasing her- 
self, more confused than ever. “ And Bessie, I think it 
very unkind in you to laugh at me.” She had in 
the distance detected a smile on that young lady’s face 
from whence comfort had been expected. 

“ I could’nt help it to save my life,” replied the latter, 
unable to restrain her mirth. “I do wish you could 
have seen yourself, so gracefully sliding down,” and 
both girls broke out in laughter. 

St. Maur was too supremely happy to laugh. His 
face was only lit up with a sweet, happy smile. These 
moments were being some of the happiest of his whole 
life’s experience — too precious to be thrown away in 
laughter. 

“ What am I to do?” cried Lucille, her face still flushed, 
and looking to St. Maur the fairest of beautiful visions. 
A man’s heart was going out to her — a soul crying 
thirstily for but a drop of the life before him, with an 
intensity of love that few women know how to value, 
— how few are ever offered. 

‘‘What am I to do? ” she repeated, looking ruefully 
at the scene before her. 


214 ST. mauk; oe, an eakl’s wooing. 


“ Why, try it again. You see you wouldn’t give me 
a firm hold on your foot and it slipped, though I sup- 
pose it was my fault. I am sure my horse will not shy, 
if you only will get in the saddle. Do try it again.” 

She had ceased her merriment and was looking at 
him intently. She could not help it. The deep, earnest, 
yet sweet and gentle look that met hers — the flushed, 
handsome face — spoke a great deal. It was the same 
she had seen so often gazing at her with a distant, 
tender light; and when soul speaks to soul in the 
tender glance of love, who can fail to read the meaning? 
And she knew what it meant. She did not mind de- 
laying for a moment. A feeling she had never experi- 
enced before was stealing over her senses, and her heart 
beat faster. 

“We have, or rather I should say /have, been a great 
deal of trouble to you to-day.” 

“If you only knew how much pleasure you have 
given me and could see the thankfulness, I hardly 
think you would say so.” 

A soft glance gleamed from her hazel eye. “Are 
you ready ? ” she said, and he held forth his hand to be 
again used as a stirrup. 

This time she was determined to succeed. Being 
naturally a good rider, and taught by the best masters, 
there was no fear in her disposition. She was thor- 
oughly collected, and, without any hesitancy, gave him 
full control. He grasped her foot strongly — in another 
moment she was firmly seated in the saddle. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 215 


“ There,” he said, arranging the reins for her, “ see 
how easily it is done, and you did it so well.” 

“ Thank you. I am ever so much obliged. What a 
splendid horse you have ” — the animal was champing 
the bit restlessly — “but I am so sorry you have to 
walk.” 

At last they arrived on level ground. A little way 
farther on, there was a well-known hostelry, where his 
lordship said he could leave Lucille’s horse in careful 
keeping, and get a remount for himself. 

“ Wouldn’t you prefer to take your own horse and 
give me the remount, I daresay it would suit me just 
as well ? ” said Lucille, who Jwas grieved about her 
favorite, but was very much pleased with St. Maur’s. 

“ No ; I would prefer you to remain as you are. I 
have always been very fond of my horse ; ” patting 
his own on the neck as he walked beside him ; “ but I 
shall like him all the better hereafter, for this day’s 
service.” 

“ He appears to be very well gaited,” she answered, 
blushing slightly, “and very gentle, too. I suppose 
you have taught him that.” 

“ Do you think I am gentle in my teaching ? ” he 
exclaimed, glancing up brightly. 

“Yes; I think you must be kind and gentle to every 
thing around you.” 

“ Thank you so much for that,” he replied, earnestly. 
“ I value it all the more because I know you mean it.” 
And then, as if he had given his emotions wider vent 


216 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

than desired : “ Is this the horse I have sometimes seen 
you riding in the park ? ” 

“Yes,” she answered, distinctly remembering to have 
seen him there more than once, with the same wistful 
look. 

“ I have often met you,” he said, “ but scarcely knew 
whether to speak or not, I was so afraid you would not 
recognize me.” 

“Yes,” she replied, “and — I thought the same of 
you.” 

“ Well then,” rejoined he, as though much relieved, 
“ since the fault is mutual, you cannot believe how 
heartily I will promise to amend mine. Have you ever 
hunted ? ” 

f “ No ; I never have. Almost the first chase I ever 
saw, was ” 

And she broke off suddenly, a slight blush suffusing 
her face at the recollection. 

“ When I was so badly thrown, you mean, and for 
your kindness then I can never thank you enough. 
That was scarcely a fair example. I think you would 
enjoy seeing a fine run. I am afraid my best hunting 
days are over. I cannot go to the front now as well as 
I could, and maybe it’s as well ; I was getting wearied 
of it.” 

“ What is that you say. Lord St. Maur ? ” exclaimed 
Bessie, falling back with the others, and only catch- 
ing part of the meaning. “ Not tired of hunting, I 
hope, because you promised to take me, and Captain 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 217 

Trevellyan is to come down for the occasion. Lucille, 
you will have to go too ; get your father to let you. 
Try and persuade her, Lord St. Maur.” 

“ I am afraid my intercession would be of little use,” 
replied he, “ tried I ever so hard.” 

“ I should be delighted to go,” she replied, “ but I 
don’t know whether papa would approve. Bessie 
seems to think I have to nonsuit him about everything 
I do. It’s not that, only I wouldn’t do anything that 
I thought might cause him uneasiness. He can hardly 
have me out of sight, and has not been very well since 
we came to this country ; ” — ^and a tear glistened in her 
eye — “ I should say, come home, but I have been abroad 
so much, that the continent seems more like home than 
here. Besides, I don’t know whether we have any 
hunters in our stable.” 

“But I have several,” responded St. Maur, “and 
would be very much pleased if you would make 
use of them. The one you are on is an excellent 
leaper. I am sure you could manage him very well.” 

“ I should be very glad to go,” she said, “ and would 
like to ride your horse so much. I have taken a great 
fancy to him,” softly stroking his neck. 

“ Couldn’t his master come in for a small share of 
the favors, or would his persuasions pass idly by ? ” 

“ I don’t know, you might not care for them,” she 
returned, progressing wonderfully in her first adven- 
ture, but avoiding his conscious look and immediately 
continuing: “ Is not that the hostelry you spoke of, just 


218 ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING 


there, through the trees ? I am very glad that you 
won’t have to walk any farther; but it’s quite late. 
See, the sun is almost setting.” 

“ Yes, it will be night before you get home. But 
the moon is up even now, and at the full, so that it will 
be very light.” 

“ I wonder what papa will think,” said she, address- 
ing Bessie, “when he finds us abroad at dinner hour?” 

“ He won’t miss us before,” rejoined Bessie. “ I 
venture to say that he and Dr. Applegarth have not 
left that horrid room for a moment, since we left. 
What on earth can they see in such a lot of trash ? I 
took a peep at them the other day, and they had fires 
and all sorts of things going.” 

“ Chemistry is a wonderful science,” said St. Maur. 
“ Its research must be very fascinating. But here is 
our halting place.” “Won’t you both alight whilst I 
see about the change of horses ? ” 

Hostlers rushed forth eagerly to take the horses, 
and the ladies dismounting, came forward with many 
obeisances and smiles. 

“Wouldn’t the ladies have a room just to fix their 
hair? Yes, and his lordship, does he want a fresh 
horse ? Certainly he can have one.” 

They had struck upon a small, but quite celebrated 
place, in its way, kept by a widow, noted for her good 
cheer. 

After arranging about the horses, St. Maur came 
back, and as the two girls had not yet made their 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 219 

appearance, he called out to them, “ Dont you think it 
would be as well to take a lunch, since we are here ? 
It will only delay a few minutes, and the night will be 
lovely.” 

“ It would be a capital idea,” said Bessie, delighted 
at the suggestion. 

“ Miss Carleton,” cried he again, “ give us your vote 
and it shall be carried without a division, as we say in 
the House.” 

“ But papa will be so uneasy,” said she, hesitatingly. 
Her father was always first in her mind. 

“ I hardly think it would matter just for once,” urged 
Bessie. 

“ I know he would not care if he thought I was safe 
and enjoying myself,” replied Lucille. 

“ Give us your sanction. Miss Carleton,” repeated St. 
Maur, from below. “ Let’s finish up with a real jolly 
good day.” 

“Well, then, yes,” said Lucille. It had been a very 
pleasant day and she would not mar it. 

It was not long before a dainty meal was served up. 
The establishment was put to its utmost resources on 
that occasion. The whole day had been something so 
entirely new to Lucille, and she had enjoyed it greatly, 
notwithstanding her mishap. As for St. Maur, he had 
never made himself more agreeable at the grandest 
State dinner, never was more pleased, never more 
happy. Reserve among them was at an end, and they 
laughed and talked merrily. 


220 ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 

It was at such times that Lucille showed her true 
disposition, and a brighter, fairer^ purer object, man 
never looked upon — so thought St. Maur. 

After remounting, the horses being fresh, and the 
moon shining brightly, lighting up the way clear as 
day, in best of spirits they resumed their ride in the 
direction of home. As they neared Wentworth they 
met the Baronet in his carriage. He had been made 
very uneasy by their lengthened absence, but was soon 
appeased when he heard the story and his daughter’s 
sweet voice telling what a pleasant day it had been 
to them. 

“ I think you had better get in with me now, and let 
one of the grooms take your horse.” 

Sir John was very polite to St. Maur, but there 
was a feeling he could not help exhibiting, that he pre- 
ferred his daughter by his own side. He wanted no 
one to cast even a remote shadow between their affec- 
tions, and her happiness was too precious to him, to even 
think in the remote distance of the future, of entrusting 
it to another. 

“Just as you please, papa. If you would rather 
have me,” said she. 

“I have been so uneasy,” he rejoined, “picturing 
such horrible things, that I can scarcely believe you are 
safe unless I have you beside me ; and here comes Dr. 
Applegarth, who was kind enough to join in the search, 
so. Miss Bessie, you will have two escorts home ; “ and 
Lord St. Maur, besides thanking you for your good 


ST. MAUK; OE, AN EARL’s WOOING. 221 


services of the day toward these young ladies, I hope 
you will stay with us to supper; we will drive on and 
await your arrival.” 

St. Maur assisted Lucille into the carriage, at the 
same time accepting of the invitation, and then, with 
Bessie between the two gentlemen, proceeded to Carle- 
ton Park, where they found an elegant repast awaiting 
them. 

It was a quiet party, but everything was very pleas- 
ant. Lucille had got back her old reserve. Going 
into the drawing-room after supper, Bessie persuaded 
Lucille to show St. Maur some pretty water-color 
drawings by her own hand. He would rather have 
possessed them than the handsomest pictures decking 
liis Hall. 

“Lord St. Maur,” exclaimed Bessie, “I have cut 
out and pasted in my Prayer Book a little scrap of 
poetry that Captain Trevellyan said was written by 
you. Is it really yours? I told Lucille it was. I think 
there is something so sweet and sad about the words ; 
and yet they sound like what I would imagine you to 
say and think.” 

She brought the book in which it was pasted. 

“ You must have been discussing me pretty thor- 
oughly this morning,” he smiled mischievously, “ and 
would you be disappointed if I told you they were not 
mine,” recognizing them at a glance. 

“ Don’t try to deceive us,” said she. “ You couldn’t, 
for they sound too much like you.” 


222 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing, 


“Well, then, I suppose I must own their authorship. 
Yes, I wrote them.” 

Lucille had taken the book and was perusing the 
lines, which ran as follows : 

“GUI BONO” — A FEW OF LIFE’S LESSONS. 

“ To strive for some goal 
None have ever attained ; 

To dream of some good 
That might never be gained I 
To cling to some hope 
Anchored lightly — and then, 

To weep o’er your folly 
' And — clasp it again I 

To win many friends 

Who are faithful and true 
Until they are tried, 

Or — until they try you I 
To build castles fair 
Whose proud walls Love defends, 

And to weary of both 
When the novelty ends. 

To gather the fruit 
. _ Once forbidden to Eve, 

And find that e’en Knowledge 
May sometimes deceive I 
To brood o’er the past. 

While the present glides by; 

To yearn for a Future — 

Nay, grasp it — and die I 

To see after all 
How you ’ve labored in vain ; 

How your gain has been loss, 

And your loss has been gain I 


ST. MAUE; OR, AH’ EAEl’s WOOING. 


223 


How seeking for rest 
E’er Life’s struggle shall cease, 

Tou are taught to look higher 
For comfort and peace. 

* Cui Bono ? ’ What use 

Are these aims and desires, 

If to this world alone 
Their ambition aspires ? 

What, indeed, if this sentence 
Be o’er them unfurled : 

Doth it profit a man 
If he gain the whole world.” 

“ I think them lovely,” said she, looking up wistfully 
at him with a tender expression. “ I agree with Bessie, 
they sound like what I imagine you would say.” 

“ Yes, but they are not like what I feel, at least just 
now,” he replied. 

“ How do you mean ? ” she inquired. 

“ I would alter, or leave them altogether unwritten, 
especially the last words of the second verse.” 

She re-read the lines and looked at him for a moment. 
Their eyes met. There was no color in his face, it was 
pale, calm as marble. Hers was flushed. 

“ I like them better as they are,” she said, and closed 
the book. 

He glanced at the clock ; it was getting late, time to 
depart. He had thought of no future, farther than the 
day, and that he was near her, and now he must leave 
her, with no certainty of a near meeting. Would she, 
could she care for him? not unless her love was like 
his, and that could not be. 


224 ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ I must say good night,” said he presently, with a 
sigh, rising to go. “ I suppose you are fatigued and 
heartily tired of me.” 

“ I don’t think I have ever passed a more pleasant 
day,” she returned, with a reproachful look, “ and I 
thank you so much, for we owe it entirely to you.” 

“ It is very good of you to say so, and I suppose I 
shall not see you again for a long time.” 

“ Then it will be your own fault, for you must come 
and see us. Bessie will not remain much longer, but 
is coming back in the autumn.” 

St. Maur’s heart beat with delight, and then a sicken- 
ing dread came over him, that he could not win her 
after all. 

“ My aunt, the Duchess of Farnborough,” he said, 
addressing ‘both Bessie and Lucille, “ is coming to the 
Towers in the autumn. I should so much like you to 
know her, I am sure you would like her. She says 
that the Towers are growing rusty from want of use, 
and as I am utterly at a loss to know how to manage 
such things, has promised to come down, and I am to 
rely entirely upon her advice for a grand entertain- 
ment. I hope you will come. If Miss Egerton would 
let me know the time of her visit, it shall be arranged 
to suit her stay.” 

He colored a little, thinking perhaps his manner of 
invitation was not usual, and premature. 

Bessie was delighted, of course; but Lucille only 
said: 


ST. maue; or, an earl’s wooing. 225 

“ I have been out very little, but shall be very glad 
to come.” 

He would like to have lingered longer, but there was 
no further excuse, and in bidding the others adieu, he 
held out his hand to her, saying : 

“ I shall take advantage of your permission to call, 
and trust you will not weary of me.” And then he 
was gone. 


14 


226 ST. MAURj OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


CHAPTER XX. 


PREPARATIONS 


HE first days of autumn had come — the saddest of 



X the year — when the time is approaching for the 
green forest trees to change into scarlet and gold ; 
when the birds are commencing to whistle in the stubble 
and under the hedges ; when all things in God’s nature 
seem harmonious and complete. 

St. Maur had been twice to Carleton Park during 
Bessie’s stay, but when he had called again, after her 
departure. Miss Carleton was “ not at home.” Besides 
this, he had met her driving out with her father, and 
beyond a few courteous sentences at these times, it was 
all that he had seen of her. 

The Duchess of Farnborough was now exercising 
full sway over Mourland Towers. Numbers of arti- 
sans from London had made their appearance soon 
after her arrival. Painters, carpenters, decorators, and 
above all, a “Chief Artist,” — a celebrated person, 
without whose supervision, no grand affair could prop- 
erly take place. His taste, his suggestions, must first 
be consulted and accepted. He was peremptory and 
powerful ; insisting that his ideas should be carried out 
to the very letter, or he would not answer for conse- 
quences. His scope extended over everything, from 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 227 

the great dome, where the revolving light was to 
be placed, to the most shaded flirtation seats in the 
remote nooks of the garden. This man brought an 
additional score of assistants with him. Even the 
thoroughly professional gardeners at the Towers, were 
astonished. Pipes were laid in different directions, 
fountains were made to cast their spray in every con- 
ceivable shape, and always where the light would 
reach, so that the drops sparkled like diamonds. Beau- 
tiful grottoes were created, with limpid, plashing 
streams passing through them. Great lanterns of 
stained glass hung in the trees, and a vast number 
of all sorts of seats, from the light wire chair to the 
heavy rustic tete-^tete were placed in the most conve- 
nient spots. Invitations had been liberally issued, not 
only to the elite of fashion in London, but to the 
provincial, and above all, the county magnates, great 
and small. 

It was the talk of the town and country, in great 
mansions, and at the clubs. Men who were making 
shooting arrangements, paused. “ By George, we must 
go there; wouldn’t miss it for the world.” But an 
invitation was by no means to be easily obtained. 
Maurland Towers was again to be thrown open — the 
place which had often entertained royalty before, 
Maurland Towers, which, almost above all other places 
in the Kingdom, afforded the best and most numerous 
advantages of entertainment. 

The Cashbids were coming, having been specially 
invited to the Towers. When the Duchess had asked : 


228 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ Is there any one you think might possibly be left 
out,” handing St. Maur a long roll of expected guests, 
compiled by the “Chief Artist,” who was aware, 
even better than his employers, who had been or ought 
to be invited, St. Maur glanced at the papers : 

“ My dear aunt, how can I tell ? I suppose Smith 
knows all about such matters.” 

His lordship was easy, for he knew that the Carleton 
Park invitations had been dispatched by special mes- 
senger. He paused a moment and then turned to the 
other side. 

“ Perhaps I forgot to mention, but I don’t see the 
names of the Cashbids. Room must be found or 
made for them.” 

“ The Cashbids ? Who are they ? ” returned his 
aunt, in a tone of astonishment. 

“ They are the near relations of Miss Egerton, who 
visits at Carleton Park,” he answered, carelessly. 

“ Is that the attraction, Erroll ? I trust you will not 
allow yourself to be led into such a fatal mistake as 
a ‘mesalliance,’ answered the Duchess, in a tone of 
alarm. 

“ My dear aunt,” he answered, his pride aroused, 
“ has there been anything in my past conduct or life, 
that would justify such a suspicion? I hold the young 
lady I have named, in as high respect as though she 
were a sister, and I doubt if there is a sweeter or 
better girl. But don’t fear. My matrimonial inclina- 
tions, I think, are destined to be delayed until a day so 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 229 


far in the future, that surmises at present are but 
wasted time.” 

“ Don’t be offended, Erroll. I spoke so because I 
know the temptations and evils which surround young 
men of your position. No one could have resisted 
them better. We all feel proud of you, and one of the 
happiest moments of my life would be when I could 
see you well and happily married.” 

Thus Mr. and Mrs. Cashbid were among the guests 
at Maurlands, and Captain Trevellyan came down with 
them, much to their satisfaction. To be sure. Miss 
Egerton was one of the party and had to be dropped at 
Carleton Park, whence, by special and previous ar- 
rangement, Dr. Applegarth was to escort her and 
Lucille to “the Towers.” The Guardsman had been 
very attentive, and kind indeed, in looking after trunks, 
boxes, satchels — all the minutia of a party destined for 
a pleasure trip, and had seen to their safe transporta- 
tion from the railway. 

St. Maur had observed his friend’s intimacy with the 
Auctioneer’s family, and was not long in attributing it 
to its proper source. He plainly saw how Trevellyan 
was fascinated, and that Bessie had at least a warm 
friendship for him. He could also observe the tender 
solicitude and anxiety for Rufus Applegarth, which it 
was impossible for her to conceal. Such a thing might 
be quite natural toward a person who had known her 
so long and intimately, but he thought he had detected 
those looLs and actions which only bespoke one thing. 


230 ST. MAUR; OEj AN EARL’s WOOING. 

St. Maur felt deeply grieved for Trevellyan, for it re- 
quired no second vision to prophesy the inevitable 
result. But he felt sorry for her also. Rufus Apple- 
garth was so immured in his gloomy forebodings, that 
he was entirely unconscious of a passion he was cast- 
ing aside. He was too mournful, too preoccupied, to 
make a high, cheerful spirit like hers happy. She 
must have known him before this had come over him; 
but the question was, would it ever leave him ? Cer- 
tainly it had grown rapidly within his knowledge, 
and it might lead to worse in the future. He shud- 
dered at the thought. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


231 


CHAPTER XXL 

THE FIRE. 

W entworth was crowded. The Great George 
was filled to overflowing. Every room in the 
village not engaged by the invited was occupied with 
their retainers. Hundreds were to remain at “the 
Towers,” but a town would scarce have held the 
expected guests. 

Pretty Dolly Spiggott was kept busy, not only in 
household matters and attentions to the company, but 
in listening to the scores of compliments hourly 
received from a suddenly arisen host of admirers, 
quite to the chagrin of Jerry Hardin, the carrier, who 
was reaping a harvest, and closely occupied from morn 
till night, much to his sorrow but more to his gain. 

Wentworth was pleased, was heaping praises without 
stint upon the J^oung and liberal Nobleman, for such a 
shower of coin had never been seen since the days 
when the old Lord was wont to throw his doors open 
to entertain royalty. 

The evening has come at last : and the soft moon- 
light shone over the Towers, now ablaze with artificial 
illumination. Equipages are rolling under the great 
arched gateway to the portal, horses are prancing, foot- 
men calling, di\in^y f^et tripping up the carpeted way. 


232 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

St. Maur is standing beside the Duchess in the 
immense drawing-room, receiving his guests. The 
rooms are filled, not crowded, it would take a regiment 
or two to crowd these spacious halls. Apartment after 
apartment are a sheen of resplendence, and gleaming 
with youth and beauty. The windows are thrown 
open, and the soft breezes pass through. Sweet scented 
fountains play constantly in many places. A numerous 
and well disciplined array of servants, in the livery of 
the family is on active but unobtrusive duty. Princes 
of the blood and foreign, with the flower of nobility 
are there ; many with hoary heads, some in the prime 
of life, some in eager youth, and there is a feminine 
galaxy there, from “sweet seventeen,” to wrinkled 
seventy. 

Mrs. Cashbid was one of that varied company — 
Bessie had entered a mild protest against gaudy attire — 
and her appearance was not very remarkable. Her 
excellent husband occasionally and involuntarily was 
“ going, going, gone,” and entirely, out of his element ; 
recognizing scarcely any person, he was, if restless, 
generally silent. 

“ By George, but this is handsome though,” exclaimed 
the Duke of Farnsborough, inwardly giving much 
credit to the Duchess. 

“Yes! very,” replied a Nobleman, standing at his 
elbow, after carefully adjusting his glasses, and taking 
a searching look at every thing. “ Handsomest get-up 
I ever saw, would ’nt have missed it for a good deal. 
Don’t often see such things.” 


ST. maur; or, an early's wooing. 233 


“ Very handsome indeed,” repeated the Duke em- 
phatically, secretly rejoicing at the Duchess’ success. 
“ I’ve been here to such things in his father’s lifetime, 
but I think this surpasses them all.” 

St. Maur was not all the time by the side of his aunt. 
When the arrivals began to lessen he would steal to the 
open casement to ascertain if a certain equipage long 
expected had come, and as each disappointed him 
returned to his position with a troubled mind. A 
longer interval than usual ensued, another arrival and 
he again glided to the window, scarcely caring to hide 
his impatience. Yes, there was the Carleton livery. 
He would not have recognized another in all the 
county. He saw Rufus Applegarth descend with 
Bessie. This was sufficient, he was confident who 
would follow, and sprang back to his place to receive 
them. They came in, but by themselves. She must 
have lingered in the ladies’ boudoir. He shook hands 
with them — Bessie and the Doctor — and looked the 
enquiry he did not speak. 

“I am so sorry,” said Bessie, “that Lucille could 
not come.” 

“Not come?” he repeated. This was a disappoint- 
ment indeed. He had fancied so many things for that 
one night. 

“Sir John was not well and she would not leave 
him.” said the Doctor. “We waited until the last 
moment, and that was the reason of our being so late.” 

Surrounded by all this gayety, pomp and splendor, 


234 ST. maur; or^ an earl’s wooing. 

St. Maur felt as if he could almost curse his fortune, so 
bitter — though he subdued it — was his disappoint- 
ment. 

Trevellyan, who had also been upon the lookout, 
came up as soon as politeness would allow, and took 
complete possession of Bessie. 

“ I shall see you again,” she said, turning to Rufus 
Applegarth in an anxious tone, as if afraid she would 
miss him. “ Remember you are to give me one dance, 
and I shall claim it.” 

“ If you don’t I shall,” spoke up Trevellyan laugh- 
ing. “ That is, with Miss Egerton’s permission.” 

“ I am sure I could not have a better representative,” 
returned he, in the same mood, but with that absent 
peculiar look, and so they swept off. 

St. Maur neared the casement, once more casting a 
lingering look towards Carleton Park. He could see 
the tall mansion, dark and gloomy in contrast with 
the brightness around him. There was a ray of light 
from one window; could it be Lucille’s? Could her 
thoughts be of him? And his heart thrilled with 
ecstas}^ Yes. She was thinking of him, she could 
not tell why, few, or many reasons might be given ; but 
she did think of him, as she sat at her open casement, at 
intervals casting a glance in the direction of Maurland 
Towers. 

* * 

St. Maur wheeled and went off among the company. 
He tried to be cheerful though he had lost interest in 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 235 

the whole scene. The music crashed, the ball began. 
He had to place himself in the first set, composed of 
those present of highest rank — the dance in which he 
had intended Lucille to stand beside him. A foreign 
Princess was his partner, the heir to a throne was 
opposite. 

The set went off well; he promenaded, occasionally 
stopping at different groups to say a pleasant word, 
tried to make himself agreeable to every one, but his 
heart was heavy. This which he had planned and 
looked forward to, his ardent hopes, his sweet expecta- 
tions, all come to naught. Once or twice he had looked 
to see if the light was still in the window of Carleton 
Park. He had stopped to gaze at it and commune 
with his own heart, and then back to fulfill the duties 
of a host. Yes, there it shone, dimly as before. She 
was still thinking of him, still with a book in her hand. 
^ * * * * * 

The sumptuous supper was over. The dancing had 
ceased for a while. There was a lull in the babel of 
voices and ringing laughter. Hundreds, even more, 
were either carelessly promenading the spacious halls 
and saloons, or seated throughout the terraced gardens, 
where the radiant streams of light fell on the variegated 
flower beds, damp with the dew, reflecting them in a 
thousand different hues. The moon had sunk behind 
the tall dark woodlands that covered the hills, only 
within the circle of the Towers’ rays was light, beyond 
was darker and blacker by the contrast. 


236 ST. maur; OR, an earl’s wooing. 


St. Maur seized a leisure moment to get out of the 
now heated and close apartments. Rufus Applegarth, 
who had spent the greater part of the evening in wan- 
dering over the grounds, was just returning. St. Maur 
spoke to him, and the two stood a moment looking on 
the animated scene before them. Suddenly a bright, 
thin tongue of flame darts up into the sky, small, but 
fiercely red. It leaps high for so thin a column, ceases, 
disappears for a moment, again shooting up higher than 
before, and remains. 

“ What can be the meaning of that ? ” exclaimed the 
Doctor. 

A moment more it was made plain. 

“ My God ! Carleton Park is on fire,” he whispered 
hoarsely. St. Maur is calm. His line of action is 
decided upon in an instant. He says, distinctly but 
rapidly, to Rufus Applegarth : “ Trevellyan is inside. 
Tell him to follow me. Then spread the alarm as 
quickly as possible. All the help possible will be 
required. 

Rushing to the stable, he called for a groom; shouts 
again, but no one answers. Grooms and stablemen 
are too busy eating and drinking to be there. Entering 
the stable he puts saddle and bridle on the nearest 
horse, and mounts. Time is precious. He does not 
take the road, but strikes across the country. It is 
his favorite steed, the one that she has ridden, and 
needs no urging. The noble animal feels that this hot 
haste must be for a purpose, and strains every muscle. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 237 


St. Maur watches the flame in the distance, not heeding 
the obstacles in the way. 

At Carleton Park the danger now is known. The 
woman at the gates has thrown them open, and stands 
in the midst, screaming and dazed with fright. St. 
Maur da^shes past her, onward to the house. Some few 
servants are there — most of them being away at the 
Towers — though each instant brings fresh help, and 
a press of breathless, shrieking, panting people was fast 
collecting. 

“Where is Sir John?” St. Maur questions hurriedly. 

“ He was here a moment ago, but has returned for 
some papers of value.” 

“And Miss Carleton?” 

“We could not restrain her; she returned after her 
father.” 

He dashed up the steps that formed the entrance. 
Most of the building is now enveloped in flames. Sir 
John was staggering out, half stifled by the smoke. 
St. Maur grasps his arm tightly, exclaiming: 

“ Where is she ? ” But the other is so confused that 
he cannot understand, or answer. 

“Where is Lucille?” he repeats. There was no 
title of courtesy; his whole soul was centered in that 
question. Trevellyan has come and stands beside him, 
also awaiting the answer. He is pale, very pale, 
but his eye is bright, like St. Maur’s, and perfectly 
calm. 

“ Great God ! I left her but a moment ago outside. 


238 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


Has she followed me? ” cried her father, and the papers 
dropped from his grasp. He called incoherently, 
“ Lucille ! Lucille ! where are you ? ” 

His spirit was dulled. A great dread had seized him 
for the being whom he loved most on earth, in whom 
his hopes were wrapt. The one great idol of his heart 
was in danger.” 

Rufus Applegarth came up and tried to lead him 
away. He fell, unconscious. Other assistance came. 
They carried him, by Mr. Leslie’s order, to the Rectory. 

St. Maur turned to Trevellyan and said, huskily: 

“ I will go in and find her. W atch for me ; if I come 
to an opening, do the best you can.” 

Water was standing near. Dipping his handkerchief 
in it and tying it closely over his mouth, he dashed 
into the wreathing smoke. Some one passed him 
on the way out; he could discern it was the house- 
keeper. Reaching the stairway, which way should he 
turn? Oh, Heaven, in mercy guide! He must not 
pause. The fire was just kindling along the railing, 
and the smoke was terrible. An unknown impulse 
directs him up. In the midst of the flight, he stum- 
bles upon a recumbent, motionless form, stooping 
down — for instinct teaches whom it is — he carefully, 
tenderly lifts the inanimate figure in his arms. The 
steps cannot be retraced, they are in one sheet of flame. 
He must keep on higher. He cannot ask Lucille to 
direct him, for she is senseless. Feeling full confidence 
in Trevellyan, not a doubt for a moment crossed his 


ST. mauk; ok, an eakl’s wooing. 239 


mind, but that he is now watching, waiting for him. 
Up he keeps — a furnace below and around — each step 
a pyramid of time. Coming to a long passage where 
the flames are at either end — the fierce, roaring, 
upward draught partially tended to clear the air — a 
door is in front. St. Maur knows, he can not tell why, 
that he is entering her room, and that it fronts the 
lawn. He closed the door fast behind him, as the 
sparks drove in gusts against it. 

Yes, he was in her chamber. Even in that awful 
moment its impress was forever stamped upon his 
memory. 

Gently laying her down, he went to the window and 
saw Trevellyan watching, waiting. How calm, how 
pale his face looks, even from this distance. It is 
sufficient. Trevellyan has recognized him, and St. 
Maur thinks no more of what he shall do. A leap 
would be certain death ; nothing he could put together 
would reach one-half the distance. Near at hand is an 
aquarium, the little gold fish floating almost motionless 
in their element, the jet of water still playing fresh and 
limpid through it. Catching a cup of this he revives 
her. For an instant she is at a loss to understand her 
position, and then recognizes the full extent of the 
situation. Gently taking her by the hand, he led her 
to the window, pointing to it as their single mode of 
escape. She can hardly hear his voice, so loud is the 
roaring, mingled with the crash of falling timbers. 

Below, the ground is dark with people. They can 


240 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

not see Trevellyan for the moment, but this does not 
trouble St. Maur, who knows that all that human 
power can do, will be done. 

When Trevellyan turned from St. Maur to take his 
stand, there was determination in every feature. He 
had made up his mind to act, and would do it ; but 
there was a sadness in his eye, and unconsciously he 
murmured : “ Better love hath no man than this, that 
he lay down his life for a friend.” 

He made what preparations he could. Thomas 
Spiggott was there, also Jerry Hardin and Nicholas 
Toner. They recognized in the Guardsman a leader, 
and as he directs, obey his bidding unquestioning. 
He had ordered ropes and a ladder to be brought, all 
the while keeping his eyes upon the windows ; as fast 
as the flames burst through and dimmed one, turning 
his gaze to another, until there are but three left. 
Still as the chances become less, he murmurs — it 
seems as if. the words are grafted on his spirit: 
“Better love hath no man — than this — that he lay 
down his life — for a friend.” 

At last St. Maur appears, and now he is all activity. 
By his direction, a ladder is placed against the marble 
portico, which is strong and will stand. The surgeon 
has returned from the Rectory and is at its side. 
Trevellyan mounted the ladder ; there is no immin^t 
danger here. The walls are thick and will hardly fall 
as yet, if at all. Rufus Applegarth is behind him ; the 
others hold the structure up. They reach the top of 
the portico. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 241 


“ Help me to pull the ladder up,” demanded the 
Guardsman. 

This was cutting off all return, but the Surgeon did 
not pause. They drew it up. Above them was a mass 
of fire. The heat where they were standing was 
intense, but the breeze carried the smoke off. There 
was a wide, ornamental ledge running around the 
drawing-room windows, sufficiently wide for a man to 
walk on; an act of no difficulty at any other time. 
Trevellyan had marked it before. They placed the 
ladder between two of the burning apertures. 

“ Hold it fast,” he cried. 

Rufus Applegarth made no protest. Perhaps it was 
one man’s life for two ; it might be a chance for his 
own. 

“ Toss me another rope,” shouted Trevellyan. 

It was pitched up with some effort by those below. 
The Guardsman coiled one around each arm, taking his 
coat off and tying it tightly around his head, just leav- 
ing sufficient opening to see. Then he steadily mounts 
again, round after round, without an instant’s pause. 
As he grasps the coveted ledge, it is so hot that his 
hands are instantly blistered. But the end must be 
gained. His stress of mind is so great that he scarcely 
feels the pain ; it is rather a numbness. Standing erect 
upon the moulding — on either side of him the blaze 
shot up and outward with fearful velocity. The way 
is but a few feet beneath the sills ; crouching down, he 
took a long breath and then crept swiftly forward. 
15 


242 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

Those below shut their eyes or turned away, as he 
passes the burning, blazing casement — emerging on 
the other side, grasping for a hold — but he is there. 
Pausing for a moment to see his way, he must pass 
beneath one more before he can with certainty throw 
the rope to its destination. 

Blackened and burned he crawls on. Again vanish- 
ing from those who have the hardihood to gaze, and 
reappearing more blackened, more burned. A loud, 
irresistible shout bursts from the multitude below. 

Trevellyan looked up and saw them both above him. 
Thank God he is here. There is no more fire to pass 
through. St. Maur has tied the few things he could 
together and flung them out, but they will scarcely 
reach Trevellyan’s height. He would descend, but 
it would hardly bear his weight, and if not, she 
would be left alone. Trevellyan’s shoes, though 
scorched, have protected his feet, but his hands are 
terribly burned. Reaching the flaunting line, he tried 
to tie his rope to it, but his fingers were useless. His 
first intentions must be, followed out. Looking up, the 
coat bound about his head fell, consumed and charred, 
to the ground. He tried to calculate his distance well, 
steadied himself and taking both ropes, tossed them 
high and clear. One rises to St. Maur’s outstretched 
hands with the utmost precision; the other is blown 
swiftly away, and then — his work is done. Trevellyan 
reels, his head has grown dizzy; he grasps wildly for 
support, then tottering, falling, leaps madly out. 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 243 


Applegarth, who had left his perilous position, rushed 
forward with others, and bore the quivering body 
away. 

“Is he killed?” 

“ No ; his lips are moving — hush.” 

“Better love — hath no man than this — that — he 
lay down — his life — for a friend.” 

St. Maur had lost no time ; breaking the glass, he 
tied the rope tightly to the sash, and first taking the 
precaution to wrap a wet towel about his hand, gently 
but firmly wound his arm around Lucille. She did 
not utter a word; there was nothing she could say 
or do. 

“ Clasp your hands around my neck,” he said, “and 
hold tightly, it is our only hope.” 

He commenced to descend gradually, carefully — the 
rope, through the covering, rasped and lacerated his 
hand horribly, cutting even to the bone. As they 
neared the ground, there were strong arms and ready 
hands to receive them. First letting Lucille down 
gently among them, he let go the swaying rope and 
sprang to the earth. She was safe, thank God. 

“ Where is Trevellyan ? ” 

“ Under yonder tree. The Doctor is with him.” 

St. Maur passes amid the throng, who draw back 
to open the way. A strange motley appearance they 
make: ladies and gentlemen, coachmen, laborers and 
peasants— the whole crowd lit up by the red glare 
of the flames. 


244 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


By far the greater number, especially the ladies, had 
remained at the Towers. The dance had ended, many 
had gone home, and all dispersed. Most of the gentle- 
men had rushed to the conflagration, whilst small parties 
and groups were drawn up on the terrace, witnessing in 
horror the disastrous spectacle from afar. 

Bessie had hastened to Carleton Park with Rufus 
Applegarth, but had not been a spectator long, before 
fainting, and did not return to consciousness until the 
surgeon came for her assistance with Trevellyan. 

St. Maur came to the little group. Bessie, Dolly, 
Spiggott and others were trying to relieve the sufferer 
in the modes directed by the surgeon. He looked down 
broken-hearted at the sad sight ; his grief was great. 
The others drew back. Kneeling down by the tempo- 
rary couch that had been improvised — 

“ Is there no hope ? ” he said, in a trembling voice, 
addressing the surgeon, for he saw Trevellyan was in a 
stupor. 

“ There may be, for a short period — eventually 
none. Listen, he is speaking.” 

Trevellyan opened his eyes vacantly. Presently he 
recognized the face stooping over him; a peaceful, 
restful look shadowed his face. 

“ Erroll, is that you ? ” 

“Yes; can I do any thing for you?” he cried, 
brokenly. What can he say? He knows too well for 
whom the life has been sacrificed. 

“ Is she safe ? ” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 245 


“ Yes ; we owe our lives to you.” 

For a moment he is quiet and the sufferer is silent, 
and then he said, painfully, “ My dream ; do you 
remember ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied St. Maur, scarcely able to control his 
voice. 

“Not all true though, Erroll; thank God, not all 
true. There were two lives ; this is only one,” and he 
sank off again. 

“ He must be taken to a more fitting place immedi- 
ately,” said the surgeon. “ If there is hope, even for 
a time, it must be by prompt and careful measures.” 

With the assistance of those around, Trevellyan is 
lifted into an easy vehicle, the Surgeon and St. Maur 
upon either side supporting him, and carefully they 
take him to Maurland Towers. 

Bessie hastened to the Rectory to be with Lucille, 
and all her comfort was needed. 

Sir John never recovered from the first shock, and in 
the same cold, gray light that shone down upon that 
sad cortege to the Towers, his life passed away, and 
Lucille was alone in the world. 

For weeks she was ill at the Rectory, too ill to see 
any one save Bessie, who never left her side. Gradu- 
ally strength and calm, if not hope, returned. 


246 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

LITTLE fan’s CAPTURE. 

HE pawnbroker sat in the midst of his miscella- 



JL neons surroundings, his doors wide open to admit 
the autumn breezes. The old man was evidently enjoy- 
ing - the fresh air, such as it was. His restless eye 
wanders from the street to the door, from the door to 
the windows, ceaselessly back and forth as though 
the spirit within knew no rest. Presently Daniel comes 
and he questions him sharply. 

“ Did you say you gave Squint my message yester- 


day.” 


“I left it for him, but the word was that he was’nt 
werry well.” 

“ I suppose he’s drunk and can’t come, so I must go 
to him. Stay here until I return,” and he shuffled ofP. 

Daniel looked after him, and barely was the retreating 
figure out of sight, ere Richard, formerly “Slummer’s 
Dick” walked rapidly by without noticing the boy, 
who eyed him suspiciously and warily. They have not 
exchanged greeting since that memorable event when 
Richard was the recipient of little Fan’s charity. 
Daniel observed that his former paragon in tlie halcyon 
days of success, had been lingering in the vicinity of 
his past scenes of triumph longer than an expectation 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. '247 

of re-employment in his old situation would appear to 
warrant, and had shown a greater partiality for the 
immediate neighborhood of the pawn-shop than the 
flaring gin palace at the corner. The boy had his mis- 
givings as to the intentions of Richard toward the 
pawnofiice and its aged owner. 

The pawnbroker was pressing forward to Mr. 
Squint’s. He announced that he had come on a little 
matter of business, which would not take long. 

“ If so, sit down and let us hear it,” said the attorney. 

Moses Mosler did not proceed to open his business at 
once. On the contrary, he talked of a dozen irrelevant 
subjects, until sharply recalled to the subject matter by 
the lawyer. 

“Oh!” exclaimed the Jew, “I came to see if you 
had heard of the fire ? ” 

“ What fire ? ” was the surly rejoinder. 

“ The burning of Carleton Park,” continued Moses, 
vainly trying to conceal embarrassment, “the news- 
papers contain full accounts.” 

“ I have not seen the papers for the last two days,” 
said the lawyer, giving his visitor a searching look. 

“ So, it is burned, is it ? That’s very strange Moses, 
very strange,” and Mr. Squint appeared to ruminate. 
“ Have you been on one of your customary pilgrimages 
of late?” 

“ I had a little business up the* country the other 
day,” the Jew replied doggedly. “ That’s neither here 
nor there. I’ve come to talk about this matter. Sir 
John Carleton is dead.” 


248 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ Dead,” repeated the lawyer, startled at the 
announcement, and springing to his feet. ‘‘Not 
killed V'" And his face was an ashen hue. 

“ Not so bad as that. Natural enough he died from 
the effects of over excitement.” 

Mr. Squint sat down again with a great sigh of relief. 
“ Moses,” said he, lookingly fixedly at him. “ I want 
to hear no more of this. It is nothing to me whose 
house is burned, or who dies, nor do I care to know 
who kindled the fire, or what caused the death.” 

The Jew’s face was pallid as he returned. “Who 
knows less about this than I.” 

“Take care,” uttered the lawyer warningly, “that 
you know nothing about such things beforehand. I 
tell you, Moses, there is something about this I don’t 
like. I ’m not over squeamish and have had a taste of 
justice in my day, but I don’t like dealings with a man 
who has any suspicion of — of blood upon his hands.” 

The old man rose up trembling and shaking. “ Hush, 
hush !” he whined, “ don’t say that. There’s nothing 
wrong with me. Let us talk of business.” 

The lawyer was silent for a while. He put his own 
interpretation upon the other’s conduct. 

“Well,” he exclaimed at last, “I’m perfectly willing 
to drop it.” Then in a lighter vein. “ This will put 
a different aspect on our little case. It makes it all the 
safer and harder to get out of.” 

“Yes,” answered the Jew, “things will go smoothly 
enough now.” 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 249 


“ Looks as if it happened just to suit us,” said the 
attorney. 

“Could’nt have been better,” returned the other, 
with a ghastly laugh. 

“We must immediately make up our minds how to 
act,” said the lawyer. “ The Carleton estate is very 
large, Moses, very large,” he added enthusiastically, 
scenting the spoils from afar. 

“What shall be our first step?” enquired the Jew 
eagerly, forgetting in his greed his past discomfiture. 

“ I will have to see Proctor first,” was the answer. 
“ As to Miss Carleton, as you have already had dealings 
with her — if necessity compels it, you can attend to that 
part. I’ve had enough to do with womenkind,” jerking 
his thumb with a melancholy look toward the adjoining 
room, where Mrs. Squint was supposed to be. “ It’s 
lucky,” he continued, “ we did not commence too soon, 
for everything was prepared. Rosa and Madame Carle- 
ton will be here in a day or two with the squalling brat. 
Mrs. Squint has consented, thinking it a hona fide case 
of restitution, and has gone in for justice too. I think 
I had better see Proctor to-morrow — ” The speaker 
broke off suddenly, interrupted by a warning finger 
held up by the other, and a meaning nod in the direc- 
tion of the side door where ho entered, and whispering 
the attorney to keep on speaking, that gentleman, per- 
haps understanding this ambiguous behavior, delivered 
a short, eloquent, but wholly unintelligible harangue to 
the walls, ceiling, and mantel-shelf in particular, whilst 


250 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

the Jew gradually, with mincing steps on tip-toe, stole 
toward the entry. 

When little Fan answered the pawnbroker’s unex- 
pected summons at the front door, it was with no small 
fear and terror. She could not forget the dreadful 
impressions made by that hour spent as a captive 
within Daniel’s sleeping closet. She could not divest 
herself of the reflection that there was connection 
between their threats of vengeance, and the beautiful 
lady who had so mercifully brought her home. She 
had pondered over it at work, and it came into her 
dreams, until her thoughts were a chaos of terrible 
imaginings, mingled with hopes of rescue. 

She was in this frame of mind when the Jew had 
passed her in the entry, and as he entered the lawyer’s 
apartment she took her stand beside the door, placing 
her ear to the keyhole in a tremor of nervous fright 
which was not lessened by what she overheard ; she 
was now assured of the misfortune that had befallen 
and still threatened the beautiful lady. “ Had not they 
said ‘Miss Carleton?’” and her slight frame shivered 
with feverish excitement and even shook the door. 

It was this unconscious agitation which the Jew had 
observed. Now the door was thrown suddenly open 
and he pounced upon her. She felt his long, bony 
fingers writhing about her neck and in her hair. 
Scream after scream, and piercing shrieks followed in 
quick succession from her overwrought spirit, until the 
J ew letting go his grasp with an oath, she fell to the 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 251 


floor in paroxysms of violent hysterics. Mrs. Squint, 
who was in her invalid’s retreat of the adjoining room, 
would have swooned had her strong constitution per- 
mitted, and even this disparity might have been over- 
looked had there been a sufficient number of spectators 
to bear testimony. But knowing she would receive no 
sympathy from the present company, she refrained and 
did the next best thing, namely, to rush to the scene of 
commotion, which had anything but a soothing effect 
upon the child, for her shrieks and screams 'were 
redoubled until exhaustion led to a protracted state of 
insensibility, in which confusion the pawnbroker made 
hasty retreat and exit amid the reproaches, upbraidings 
and condemnations of Mrs. Squint, who really would 
have fainted and exhibited unmistakable symptoms of 
an epileptic fit had not Mr. Squint been left as a proper 
safety valve to shower them upon. 


252 ST. MAUR3 OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

THE AGENT — TEMPTATION. 

M r. proctor had long been the legal agent of 
Sir John Carle ton, and was his only adviser in 
the management of his large revenues. These he had 
guarded zealously and jealously, as well for his patron 
as himself. 

He had accepted of but a small per centage for his 
trouble, but in the aggregate it had mounted up in 
many years, and both directly and indirectly made him 
a rich man. 

“A person whom Sir John Carleton so implicitly 
trusts and relies upon, must be safe and prudent 
indeed ! ” So spoke and thought others, and these 
speeches and thoughts were all the better for the agent, 
for they brought great gain, and from the poor, hard- 
working, industrious clerk Sir John had found him, he 
had developed into one of the ruling spirits of that 
branch of the profession. 

The little dingy back room, which hO had originally 
occupied, had bloomed into handsome outer and inner 
offices, with tall, polished desks, occupied by clerks who 
kept watch and ward over numerous japanned deed- 
boxes, marked thus : “ Papers belonging to the estate 
of Lord Bailey ; ” “ Documents pertaining to the dower 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 253 


of the Duchess Dowager of Findlater;” or, as one 
larger than the rest, simply denoted in great white 
letters, “Sir John Carleton, Bart.” 

Mr. Proctor never saw — never pretended to see — 
people on the street. His glasses were kept slightly 
elevated, and so was his chin, showing to better advan- 
tage the white neckerchief below. Those above him 
attributed his abstraction as one of the necessary con- 
tingents of so vast a business, and scored it an excellent 
point. Those beneath him, such as Mr. Squint, regarded 
it as a mark of assumed superiority and conceit, for at 
times they were made sorrowfully aware that nothing 
escaped his attention, and secretly cursed him in their 
hearts accordingly. 

Mr. Proctor was sitting in his private office, and was 
the same gentleman, dressed in black, that Applegarth 
encountered at the gates of Carleton Park upon his 
first arrival. Important letters and papers — for noth- 
ing except of consequence would dare to enter here — 
were strewn upon the desk before him. A subdued 
rap at the door. Clerks would not venture to approach 
this sanctuary without proper heralding. 

“ Come in.” 

Mr. Proctor’s head is bent a little down; his eyes 
face the intruder over his glasses. 

“ Mr. Squint wants to see you, sir.” 

“Wants to see me.^” as though such a thing were 
impossible. “What about?” 

“ I told him you were engaged, sir, but he has been 


254 ST. MAUK5 OR; AN EARL’s WOOING. 

twice ; says the business is most urgent, that he must 
have an interview,” and, with apologetic deference, “ I 
thought it best to inform you.” 

The person who gave this information was a tall, 
thin, threadbare, but neat and cleanly clad old man* 
He had been a clerk here for twenty years, chief clerk 
the last ten. It was Mr. Smiles, Mrs. Glover’s lodger. 

“ Tell him to come in,” was the reply, in a sharp, 
decisive tone, as he carefully placed some letters which 
he held in his hand under a paper weight. 

Squint entered, his body inclining forward, hat in 
both hands, and bowing very obsequiously. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Proctor. How do you do, 
sir?” 

“ Take a seat,” suggested, or commanded the other. 

“Oh, yes, a seat. Thank you,” and the intruder 
lowered himself scantily upon the edge of a chair, still 
holding to his hat with both hands, his feet under the 
chair rounds, and his body still more incumbent. “ I 
came to see you, Mr. Proctor — ” 

“ Might I ask your name ? ” interrupted that gentle- 
man, coolly, as though he had never laid eyes on the 
individual before him. This did take Squint a little 
aback. Hadn’t he known him for thirty years ? hadn’t 
he known him when they were both poor alike ? but, it 
was like his cursed impudence, and the smirk that had 
left his face in astonishment came back. The time and 
place were not opportune for argument. 

“Theophilus Squint, attorney-at-law,” he replied, 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 255 


fumbling for a card and banding it to him. He was 
not to be outdone in assurance. 

“Well,” assented Mr. Proctor, taking the bit of 
soiled paper gingerly, and casting it down without 
deigning to look at the name upon it, “Well, sir, what 
can I do for you ? ” 

“I came to see you,’^said Squint, “in regard to a 
question affecting the estate of the late Sir John Carle- 
ton, Baronet.” 

“ If you have claims to make against the estate, there 
is a proper office in which to file them I ” 

“ That I am about to do, sir. I represent a large, I 
may say, a very large interest.” 

Mr. Proctor cocked his ears at this; he knew his 
deceased client had not owed a penny in the world, 
but deemed it best to keep silent, awaiting further 
developments, whilst Squint ran on. 

“ Before taking any decisive steps, I desired to con- 
sult you, and, if possible, obtain some information 
which would, to a certain degree, guide my actions.” 

His listener nodded and grinned an unspoken assent, 
the other continued. 

“Did Sir John Carleton leave a will?” 

Mr. Proctor hesitated. “ I can scarcely give you any 
information until I understand the drift of your inqui- 
ries.” After reflecting for a moment, it would be of 
small consequence to relate, being readily found out 
elsewhere. “But since you ask, I will say there is 
none, and in the absence of heirs male, Miss Carleton, 


256 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

who is next-of-kin, naturally inherits the whole of the 
property.” 

“ Thanks ! Could you approximate anything like the 
value of the estate ? ” 

Proctor could have sworn to within a thousand 
pounds-. Again he reflected. Every one knew it was 
millions. Any one could tell him that, so he acknowl- 
edged : 

“ Yes, it is a very large amount, several millions.” 

“Thanks! Could you inform me of anything in 
particular it’s invested in ? ” 

Everybody knew he had extensive Welsh mines, that 
could be easily ascertained, so he again replied : 

“Yes, his Welsh mines were a source of immense 
revenue, but,” cautiously and with a searching look, 
“ Mr. Squint, you have propounded several questions 
which I have cheerfully answered” — such answers, and 
he could not help smiling to himself — “ would you be 
kind enough to tell me what claims you have, or repre- 
sent, or what is your business. My time is much occu- 
pied,” and he glanced toward the papers upon his 
desk. 

What effrontery, thought Mr. Squint, but I’ll have 
him yet. 

“ I represent the interest of a certain person whom 
perhaps, if you do not know, you have heard of.” 

“ And that person is ” said Mr. Proctor, as if to 

assist him in his disclosures — 

“ The widow of his deceased brother, Madame 
Therese Carleton.” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING.^ 25T 

“ I was not aware she had any interest,” pursued the 
agent. 

“The estate was strictly entailed,” said Squint. 

“ You appear to be well posted,” replied Mr. Proctor, 
with one of his blandest smiles, “ but that entail has 
ended with the male line.” 

“ But the male line has not ended. I am here to 
represent that very fact, and defend the cause of inno- 
cence,” exclaimed the little attorney, rather fiercely. 

“ Madame Carleton has nothing to do with the male 
line of descent that I can make out,” affirmed the other 
calmly. “Her husband died — let me see,” and he 
looked up at the ceiling, counting upon his fingers. 
“ This is almost November — so he died the latter part 
of last March. The late Baronet came to town about 
that time in especial regard to it, destroying such papers 
as had been drawn, as there was no longer a necessity 
for their existence.” 

“ Yes, sir,” and Squint straightened himself up as if 
by his dignity and future consequence he would com- 
pletely extinguish the other’s coolness and respecta- 
bility. “Yes, sir, this has everything to do with the 
case in point. The brother of the late Baronet has left 
a posthumous son, I am glad to say, sir, a fine, healthy 
boy.” 

Strange to remark, Mr. Proctor did not look at all 
annihilated. On the contrary, he was even cooler than 
before, as replying, with a slight inclination of the 
head : “ Madame Carleton should be congratulated. If 
16 


258 ST. maue; oe, ak eael’s wooiis'g. 


my memory serves me aright, from her years and former 
habits she must be past the time of life when such 
arrivals are expected.” 

“ Many cases of the kind have occurred. Medical 
history abounds in them,” declared Squint, emphati- 
cally. 

“ Do you read much history, Mr. Squint? ” 

Squint stared blankly at this cool assumption, but 
rejoined tartly ; 

“I have read the Law thoroughly, and know the 
statutes, which is the best of all history for my purpose, 
but,” he snarled, “ that is not in our discussion.” 

“ I am obliged to you for recalling me,” returned the 
imperturbable agent, “when was the child born?” 

“ Within the past few months,” vaguely replied the 
attorney. 

“ So lately I and where ? ” questioned his interro- 
gator. 

“In France. We have the necessary proofs, physi- 
cian’s and nurse’s affidavits, as well as registration of 
birth, fully authenticated.” 

“ You speak early of proofs, Mr. Squint. No one, at 
least, not I, has denied your statement.” 

The irate attorney paused, rather nonplussed; he was 
not exactly sure how to proceed. “Well, sir, what will 
you do about it ? ” he interrogated, testily. 

“Do about it?” repeated Mr. Proctor. “I have 
nothing to do about it,” twisting an envelope in his 
hands; “I have simply to deliver over to MissCarleton 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 259 

such valuables and balances as may be in my hands. 
She has not signified her intention of retaining me, 
either as agent or adviser; until that occurs, I really 
cannot see what I have to do with the matter, and as 
I have remarked before,” looking at his papers, “ my 
time is very much occupied.” 

Squint was disappointed, crest-fallen and sore, though 
under it all, smothering his wrath. 

“Well, sir, I will detain you no longer,” he observed, 
rising and rubbing his hat. “ I suppose you will com- 
municate with Miss Carleton and ascertain what she 
intends to do. I presume there is a possibility of 
your still being retained in her employ,” he wound up, 
sneeringly. 

“ Really, as I told you, I cannot perceive that it is 
any of my business. I expect she will hear it soon 
enough — possibly from you. By the way, where did 
you say this Frenchwoman, this Madame was ? ” 

“ I didn’t say at all,” cunningly responded the attor- 
ney, with a leer. 

“ Oh, I beg pardon, I thought you did. May I then 
inquire her whereabouts?” 

“Will you tell me whether you shall inform Miss 
Carleton of this matter, or leave it to — others to 
do so ? ” 

“Answer my question first,” demanded the agent. 
Both men looked at each other — the one cool, perfectly 
calm — the other dissatisfied and defiant. 

“ Certainly,” said the attorney, doggedly. “She’s at 
my house, so as to be prepared to act.” 


260 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ Indeed ! that must be very pleasant for Mrs. Squint 
and yourself, to say nothing of the foreign lady and 
the infant. Rather young, I should say, for so long 
a journey — from the South of France, I think you 
said?” 

“That’s neither here nor there,” persisted the other, 
in the same surly manner; “ will you answer me ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! what was it? ” looking down at his boots 
to recollect. Ah, I remember, whether I should inform 
Miss Carleton of the matter. I think not; I scarcely 
regard it as of sufficient importance. And, Mr. Squint, 
since you are so well versed in history, may I ask if 
you ever encountered in your earliest researches, the 
description of the child playing with edged tools, and 
the consequences? If you have not, take my advice 
and look it up. It is instructive as .well as enter- 
taining.” 

He touched a bell, the door opened, a clerk stood 
within. Squint saw that was the signal to retire, which 
must be obeyed. Shaking his head wrathfully, he left, 
muttering, “ You’re deep, very deep, but I’ll have you 
yet.” 

After his departure, Mr. Proctor walked toward and 
turned his back to the fire, for it was a raw day, and 
drew his coat between his arms, murmuring : 

“ It is a well designed plot, though he couldn’t de- 
ceive me. But what an undertaking! Squint could 
never have conceived it ; it’s not in him. He is acting 
under some experienced supervision. I wonder whose 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARl’s WOOING. 261 


it is. If they had any respectability about it” — and 
Mr. Proctor looked down complacently at himself — 
“and the string of evidence complete, why, it might 
work. I don’t say positively it would, though it might 
be done. The risk would be terrible, but the stake 
tremendous. Yes,” he reflected, slowly, “ under certain 
circumstances, it might be done. Let me see. Last 
year’s income was one hundred and fifty thousand 
pounds, though I doubt if it will be so large again. 
These mines turned out prodigiously. If they could 
get hold of them for one year before being found out, it 
would be a fortune for a dozen, and that’s the idea, 
depend upon it, or compromise money. It’s a great 
temptation for — any man.” 

He sat down, falling into a deeper and more profound 
train of thought, sometimes with his hand to his brow, 
sometimes with his head bent over his desk, and, again, 
looking vacantly before him. Mr. Proctor’s reverie 
lasted a very long time — lasted until the shadows fell 
across the room — till the sun went down. Never 
before had papers lain before him untouched as they 
had that day. Again he strode to the hearth and shiv- 
ered sensibly, as if there were something about him he 
wanted to get rid of, to shake off. His usually bloodless 
face turned a shade whiter as he continued to commune 
with himself. 

“ Yes, I could have managed it. My name, my influ- 
ence, would have sealed it, and then there might have 
been hope. Might have been ! ” he repeated, mourn- 


262 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


fully. “ No, I must not deceive myself,” and he glanced 
in a mirror that hung on the wall, starting back shocked 
at his own appearance, for even the faint, glimmering 
light showed the pallor of his ashen face, its lines and 
furrows. 

“ No, there would be no hope,” he kept on. “ Great 
God ! why do men grow old and their hearts remain 
green ? Why do not the years carry the sensibilities, 
the emotions, with them ? It may not be ; ” and the 
sadness of his voice changed to professional keenness. 
“They’ve laid it deep, very deep, but a little striving, 
a little patience, and I can dismember and scatter it 
like that,” waving his arm out as if to sweep it away. 
“ One word from me would render it safe, but I can not, 
I will not. I would do all, dare all, brave all, to 
succeed, but would it help me ? Would misfortune and 
distress make a difference? for that it would be, as, 
under the provisions, the Baronet had arranged and 
placed — suspecting nothing of this kind — for the 
funds to follow the present entail, which is, in the 
event of the failure of male heirs, to the female. But 
would all this have any effect ? There is one prize I 
would do it for, and that prize, alas ! can never be 
mine.” 

Mr. Proctor had gone through many struggles in 
early manhood — struggles through poverty, when sore 
temptation had beset his path — but never in his life 
had he been so sorely persuaded as now. Never in 
the weary years of contending poverty had he gone 
through such a contest with himself. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 263 


“ Bah ! ” he continued, contemptuously, “ I would not 
give that for the gold, but I would sacrifice wealth, 
position, honor — my life — for her. There would be 
no need of my coming to the front,” he muttered, 
craftily vacillating. “ And, suppose it was taken, there 
could never be restitution. But away with such 
thoughts ; I could never gain her love. I am not fool 
enough, or so blind, bu^ can see that. Well, so let it 
be. If I suffer, still no harm shall come to her.” 

Mr. Proctor, as Sir John’s trusted agent, had, of 
course, very frequently been brought in personal contact 
with him. Oftentimes it was requisite to visit the 
Continent for the better management of affairs, and of 
late these visits had been of more frequent occur- 
rence. Both abroad and at Carleton Park the agent 
had been cursorily thrown into the society of and 
seen much of Lucille. In a manner she had grown up 
under his observation, and from the pretty, sweet, 
childish girl he had first known, she had expanded into 
the charming, beautiful, graceful young woman that it 
was good to look upon, and as these successive changes 
had ensued from childhood to woman’s estate, their 
progress had developed a corresponding tender admira- 
tion in his heart ; and, after successfully passing through 
the best, as well as most painful, part of life, Mr. 
Proctor realized there w^as yet a sharper, more poignant, 
grief in store — a hopeless love ! 

Picking up his hat and gloves, he passed into the 
outer office. There, on his high stool, a dim gas jet 


264 ST. MAUR; OR^ AN EARL’S WOOING. 


just above his head, was Mr. Smiles, deep in the com- 
plexed figures of a huge ledger. The other clerks had 
left, glad to get rid of their tasks. None of them felt 
afraid of Old Smiles. Indeed, they did as they pleased 
with him, though standing in the greatest awe of Mr. 
Proctor. But Mr. Smiles would have considered it a 
disrespect to quit the office before his employer. For 
twenty years he had always sapped to see that every- 
thing was fast and the janito^' deputy at his post. He 
had never waited so long before as this, for it never 
mattered, however great the pressure of business, office 
hours were concluded at five o’clock, and Mr. Proctor, 
as in everything else, punctual to the minute, left upon 
the stroke. 

“Why, Smiles, are you still here?” exclaimed his 
employer, a little startled that a human being should 
have been so near his thoughts. “ It’s later than I had 
any idea of.” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the clerk ; “ you told me to have 
the Carleton accounts ready for closure at any moment, 
and there were a few items I desired to run over to 
make certain,” getting down from his perch, preparatory 
to closing up. 

Mr. Proctor winced a little at the unwitting mention 
of the Carleton estate, but he was pleased with himself, 
pleased at the determination he had come to, wondering 
that he could have been for a moment allured, and the 
revulsion of feeling was very satisfactory. 

The clerk had moved nearer his employer, observing 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’S WOOING. 265 


his face. “Are you unwell, sir?” he inquired, anx- 
iously, for of all those who respected Mr. Proctor, he 
entertained the greatest, his high regard even extending 
into an affectionate fellow-feeling for the man, and his 
employer, though distantly, fully recognized and felt it. 

“ I feel a little tired,” he answered, wearily. “ It’s 
time we were both getting tired. Smiles, eh? We’ve 
worked in the same harness, side by side, for, let me 
see, it must be upwards of thirty years.” 

“ Thirty, pleasing God, coming next Michaelmas ; 
but,” added the old man, quickly, “ I’m not tired, Mr. 
Proctor, not tired yet. There’s a heap of work in 
these old bones left.” He did not know what his 
employer might be coming to. It sounded very much 
like the prelude to a discharge. 

“Yes, it’s been thirty years. That’s a long time. 
Smiles. A good many changes have taken place during 
that period.” 

“ Yes, sir, but none between us ; we’ve always been 
the same. I’ve endeavored to do my duty, sir ; always 
at my post,” declared the chief clerk, nervously. 

“ Yes, Smiles, you’ve worked hard. We have worked 
hard and are both growing old together.” Mr. Proctor 
said this sadly and kept on : “ And I’ve been thinking. 
Smiles, the work was getting most beyond — almost too 
much for you,” 

“Not at all, sir, not at all,” replied the old man, 
quickly. “I’ve never complained — you will bear me 
out in that, sir? — I have never complained, and since 


266 ST. MAUK; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


you have taken the extra clerk it has been all the easier. 
We could have done without him, but I couldn’t per- 
suade you so. He might go even now. I could very 
easily take another book. I ’ve scarcely enough to keep 
me busy,” he kept on, protesting. 

“ Well, I’ve been thinking it over, as I told you.” 

Mr. Proctor’s heart was full to overflowing. He had 
done a good act, a good deed. At least, he had resolved 
to refrain from doing a bad one, and in this spirit he 
continued : “ Yes, I’ve been thinking it over,” he said, 
“ and have determined to offer you a partnership — r a one- 
fourth interest.” There must be no doubt of his own 
controlling interest, no question of the balance of power ; 
aiiid he kept on: “You know the business; it’s for you 
to say whether you will accept or not. If you want 
time to decide, you may have as long as you please.” 

“I don’t think — I quite — understand you, sir,” 
gasped the other, bewildered and almost trembling with 
delight. 

“Not understand,” said Mr. Proctor, enjoying his 
surprise and the effects of his pleasant goading. “ Why 
man, I offer you a one-fourth interest in the establish- 
ment. If you take it, you will have to leave your 
stool there, though, and occupy the middle room. It 
would ’nt do for a full member of the firm to be roosted 
in such a place. Will you decide now?” 

The old man took Mr. Proctor’s hand, he would have 
fallen on his knees. It was not the lucrative position, 
not the honor he coveted, but the place so near his 
benefactor’s — person — a sort of a share in his life. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARl’s WOOING. 267 

“Come, come, Smiles, that won’t do,” declared his 
superior. “ You know you ’ve labored hard and deserve 
it. Come now, will you take it ? ” 

“ Take it, sir, take it? You can’t feel how I thank 
you. What can I ever do to show you my gratitude ? ” 

“ You can do something now, right away, and that is 
come to the St. James and dine with me, I have some 
matters I want to talk over with you, now that you are 
a partner, and first in the morning step around to 
Laroque’s, the detective, and tell him to come to the 
office as soon as possible.” 

The two walked out, arm in arm, for Mr. Proctor 
had drawn the ancient clerk’s within his own. 

Mr. Smiles had not dined away from Mrs. Glover’s for 
twenty years. Nothing but the present consideration 
would have induced him to do otherwise. He had 
never been happier, and no crowned head enjoyed a 
meal more, or drank his rare wine with greater gusto, 
than old Mr. Smiles that day, and sipped his half of the 
pint of sherry — “dry, very dry” — by Mr. Proctor’s 
order. 


268 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


DEATH. 


BRIGHT, clear afternoon in October, the leaves 



21 in their variegated hues flecked the landscape in 
brilliant colors of scarlet and gold. 

Audley Trevellyan was no better. It was a surprise 
to the medical men that he has lasted so long. The 
most celebrated physicians have been constantly back 
and forth between “the Towers” and London. Dr. 
Applegarth has consulted and talked with them. There 
was but one opinion, it was a question of time — a few 
days, may be weeks — nothing but a herculean consti- 
tution could have upheld so long, another would have 
died on the spot. His mother and sister have been 
constantly with him. St. Maur has never left his side. 
Trevellyan has no use of his limbs, and requires to be 
carried from place to place ; bearing patiently, never 
murmuring, never complaining, though all is darkness. 
The last he remembers seeing is Erroll bending over 
him, in the cold gray of the morning under the great 
elm at Carleton Park, since then it has been total 
darkness. Better perhaps it is so, for the scarred face, 
contorted body and crippled limbs, although an ever 
present reality, still their actual appearance would be a 
painful shock ; without seeing, he may feel, but cannot 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 269 - 

realize the whole change from the great strong man he 
had been, and the poor deformed charred object he was. 

The invalid’s chair has been carried out upon the 
terrace, and his mother and St. Maur are with him. 
He can not see but likes to hear the gentle rustle of the 
leaves in the soft autumn breezes and feel the waning 
warmth of the sun, and he will speak with her here, 
for Miss Carleton is coming to-day. He has waited to 
meet her, lingering until he feared it might he too long ; 
he has been told she was a little stronger, and then for 
the first time makes his desire known, and sends a mes- 
sage couched in the simplest form, “ as he can not come 
to her, will she come to him, for a few moments only, 
he will not task her strength,” and she is coming. 

“Erroll, are you there?” said the sufferer, not hear- 
ing his voice, for St. Maur is silently looking down 
with a pitying, mournful gaze. 

“ I am here, is there anything you want ? ” 

“ Nothing,” he replied slowly, and as if to himself, 
“ I must be a great trouble.” 

“ Hush, you must not speak so,” exclaimed St. Maur. 
“ You don’t know how it wounds me.” 

“ Then I will not do so again, I was only thinking, 
and my thoughts sometimes find utterance aloud.” 

Mrs. Trevellyan had stepped a little to one side, 
and so for the instant they were left alone, and he con- 
tinued : “ Do you know sometimes sitting, pondering so 
much, I think I can see many things clearer now than I 
could. I don’t mean outwardly,” he added with a sigh. 


270 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ for that is past, 'but things which I could’nt under- 
stand have a clearer meaning ; and I believe it’s for 
the best, better that I should have found them out 
even in this way — and I have suffered much — than to 
have passed through another pain more lingering and 
as severe. There are some things I want to say to you, 
but I am not strong, you know,” and he paused for 
breath. 

' St. Maur’s keen sense had discovered long ago the 
inner confidences of his heart and he replied, trying to 
believe in his words : 

“ I hope you will be stronger and better soon, and 
then we will talk a great deal, and about anything you 
may please.” 

“ Ah ! that may be a long way off,” replied Trevellyan. 
“ I fear, never. No, what I want to say must be said 
now. Erroll, I know I am not long for here ; there is 
something, I suppose, that warns every man of his 
approaching end ; mine can not be far off. I thought it 
would be yesterday — the day before — it may be even 
now. I^have no fear of death, but it is not of that I 
would speak. What I say must be plain, for these 
things have been resting on my mind.” 

“ Dear friend,” said St. Maur, taking his hand lov- 
ingly between his own. “If in what you desire to 
unfold, I can be of counsel, or help in any way, you 
know I would — it would be useless to say — at the cost 
of my life,” and his tears fell upon the hand he held. 

“ I would not wish you to think of that, Erroll, I 


ST. MAUK; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 271 

simply did as you would have done under the same cir- 
cumstances, but I do not wish to speak of it. I would 
to God you could forget it,” and he again paused for 
breath, continuing in a strange, eager voice : 

“You know Rufus Applegarth, what do you think of 
him ? ” and he bent forward to catch the reply. 

“ I do not know what to make of him, there is an 
unaccountable mystery that is past my finding out, only 
Sir John Carleton knew his past history. I have thought 
a great deal about it, and though I absolutely know 
nothing, there is but one thing I can surmise as a clue 
to his character.” 

“What is it?” inquired Trevellyan quickly. “You 
are so much cleverer than I, that I was certain you had 
drawn some wise conclusions.” 

“You have heard of the sad story of ‘Lonedrear 
House,’ although it occurred without our memory.” 

“ Yes, of old Mr. Kirby, and the death of his daugh- 
ter at the ‘ Great George.’ Spiggott has told me of it 
a dozen times at least. What of that ? ” 

“Well, there was a child left, you may remember, if 
you heard it aright, and Mr. Kirby left for America.” 

“ I recollect,” and then Trevellyan said slowly as if 
a sudden light were breaking upon him.' “You don’t 
mean that this — this man is that child.” 

“Yes, I think so, nay, I am certain, for reasons that 
are conclusive to me,” asserted St. Maur. “ His com- 
ing from the United States, his taking such an interest 
in Lonedrear House and its story, which he cannot 


272 ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 

conceal, his absence of mind, the sensitiveness and 
melancholy of his conduct about this one subject upon 
which he is continually questioning and endeavoring 
to seek information, and a hundred other things besides, 
seem to point it out and confirm my belief,” and he 
went on as if in a defensive offset for these peculiari- 
ties. “ All this is virtually nothing against him, for he 
has alwaj^s deported himself as a brave, true man and 
courteous gentleman. I have the highest opinion of 
and admiration for him.” 

“Yes,” rejoined Trevellyan, “I know -him for all 
these too, but it is not of that I seek knowledge. 
Erroll, do you think it would be safe for — for a woman 
to marry him, to bind herself to him for life ? ” and he 
winced as if with pain. 

“No, I do not,” answered St. Maur. 

“Why?” 

“ Because a man of his temperament, although pos- 
sessing the best and noblest interest, will in time become 
morbidly sensitive, may finally seclude himself alto- 
gether from the world ; and imprisoned with such 
melancholy — if not perhaps worse — for life, would be 
a hard fate indeed.” 

“ I thought the same,” said Trevellyan meditatively, 
“ it is all true, all true, and she does not even think, or 
know.” 

“ But,” kept on St. Maur, “ from my observation I 
do not think he has any marital intentions, for I believe 
he knows his own condition, and under any circum- 
stances that would restrain him.” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


273 


“ I am glad you think so,” replied the invalid, as if 
relieved of a burdensome idea, continuing: “Erroll, 
there is a woman in whom I feel a deep interest, greater 
than any other I have ever met. It may be you have 
known it before.” 

“ Yes, I have observed it,” assented St. Maur, with a 
gentle pressure of the hand. 

“ As I have said,” proceeded Trevellyan, “ I can see 
things plainer now, and I think mine — was hopeless. I 
think she — Miss Egerton,” and he spoke the name 
lowly, “ could never have cared for me — in the way I 
would wish. She loves another, you know whom. 
Am I correct ? ” 

“ Yes,” rejoined St. Maur, “ I have seen it.” 

“ I was right then,” said the other regretfully, adding. 
“ Then believing as you do, Erroll, would you, should 
necessity arise, would you warn her, not from the man 
as he is, but from what he may, what he must be, for 
his future, for her future. I could not bear to die 
knowing that such a cross was in store for her bright 
and happy disposition. You have intimated there was 
no danger, no possibility. I hope so, I trust so ; but 
will you do as I ask?” 

“ I will,” he answered, his voice trembling. 

“ And now, Erroll, there is one more thing I want to 
speak of. I would refrain even now, did I not think it 
would be my last opportunity. It is about yourself — and 
another. I see that now clearer than I could ever other- 
wise have done. You remember the conversation we had 
17 


274 ST. mauk; oe, an earl’s wooing. 

here soon after your hunting accident, you had found 
such a woman as you described. Is it not so ? ” 

“ Yes,” St. Maur acknowledged, in an almost inaudi- 
ble whisper, “You know it all.” 

“ Erroll, the book that every one has been speaking 
of, and that is so much praised, I have it here,” touch- 
ing it upon his lap, “ you know my sister Alice has 
been reading it to me. No one knows the story, but I 
can trace each heart-beat, every tear. Tell me, is it not 
yours, though it is a useless question, I know it ; but 
I would rather hear you say so.” 

“Yes,” it is mine,” murmured the other in alow 
voice. 

“ And it tells the whole story,” pursued Trevellyan. 
“Yes, I know the whole sad story, but the worst is 
passed, the clouds have gone by and the sunshine of 
your future will be more glorious than ever. Your 
life will be brighter, happier than you can think, or 
hope for. I would I could be with you, but that is 
past ; I must not murmur,” and as if looking into the 
future prophetically, he continued to speak. “Your 
hopes that have been stilled, your heart-aches will 
give place to more joyous and happier hours. Your 
fondest dreams will be more than realized. Proud, 
with a manly pride, great with a nobleness of spirit, 
you will rise even to the highest, and the one want of 
your life, the one longing of your soul will be filled 
with a woman’s love as pure and sacred as your own,” 
and then he paused, his voice failing from exhaustion. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 275 


“ From the bottom of my heart I thank you, Audley, 
for the kind wishes that make you see so much good in 
and for me,” murmured St. Maur, in a subdued though 
loving voice. “ But we can not speak more of this at 
present — hush! — Miss Carle ton and Miss Egerton are 
coming. 

The two approached, Lucille looking pale and worn 
from recent illness. It was the first time she had been 
out since that dreadful night, which clung around her 
recollections like a frightful dream, and the whole con- 
sequences of which she had not understood until 
receiving Trevellyan’s message. 

The sweet and lovety face had somewhat lost its 
color, though the soft and gentle expression which 
naught could rob her of, was still there — that gentle 
expression, which upon a fair woman’s face makes her 
nearer akin to the angels than aught else beside ; that 
attractive sweetness that compels those w^ho approach, 
to offer homage in love and admiration. Not as unto 
a royal beauty, the belle of one or many seasons; not 
as unto the form of nature’s perfect moulding, but unto 
a higher, better object. An undefined emotion that 
testifies and teaches there is something beyond our 
common human nature, something which approaches 
that joy whereof man can not conceive, and it is this 
class of women. Alas, how few they are, whose names 
are not lauded at clubs, at mess dinners, or at race 
balls, and are only mentioned in that mystical respect 
which denotes the loyalty of men to one of God’s 
fairest creations — a beautiful and pure woman. 


276 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


Not the hackneyed phrase of “virtuous,’' but where 
no thoughts, no schemes for conquests, or future 
aggrandizement have entered ; but pure, whose contact 
with the world has left no regret, no stain. Where 
women’s tongues have not been busy with supposed 
engagements, or recitations of flirtations; where the 
heart is pure before earth and heaven. 

St. Maur retired as they came near, for both were 
shocked at Trevellyan’s appearance. They would 
hardl}" have known him, and Lucille realized what he 
had done, what he had gone through for them, for her, 
and the pity and gratitude of her heart welled up in 
scarcely suppressed sobs, as kneeling by his side, she 
cried : 

“ I am so sorry, so distressed for you, and to think 
I should have brought you this sorrow and pain. How 
can I show you my gratitude, how can I ever thank — ” 

“Hush, hush! don’t thank me,” Trevellyan inter- 
rupted, trying to restrain her, “ it was what any man 
would have done, and I a soldier refuse ? — Oh, lady, 
do not let me think you are weeping for me, it adds to 
my suffering.” 

Bessie already had her arm around and her cheek 
pressed to Lucille’s, as she whispered : 

“ My darling, I fear you are not strong enough; this 
is too much for you.” 

“ Thank you for your timely help. Miss Egerton,” 
exclaimed the invalid. “ I am sure, to gratify me, Miss 
Carleton will not think of it again.” 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 277 


Lucille could not trust her voice, she only leant upon 
Bessie at her side, burying her face on her shoulder. 

“ Miss Carleton,” said Trevellyan, and his voice 
showed it was an effort to speak, being obliged to 
pause at intervals for rest and breath, “might I say 
something to you alone — about a subject that is very 
near and very dear to my heart ? ” 

Bessie withdrew to where St. Maur stood, his face 
turned away. 

“ Miss Carleton,” Trevellyan continued, “ you know 
that Erroll is very dear to me, and now that my own 
time is passing away, I have been thinking of his 
future, his happiness; it may be because my own is 
ended.” 

“ Oh ! do not speak so,” she cried. “ I trust you 
have life, if not the full measure of happiness before 
you ; surely you are stronger than you think.” 

“No, Miss Carleton, I can not deceive myself, but 
I would not distress you, only there is one great joy 
that might yet be given me ; one happiness, knowing 
which, I could — I could die content, and. Miss Carle- 
ton, it rests with you.” 

“ Tell me,” she requested, “ what I can do to cause 
you a moment’s pleasure. Only tell me what it is and 
you will see how willing, how glad I shall be.” 

She was so eager, so anxious to serve him, to give 
him a moment’s ease of mind, or body — he who had 
risked so much for her. 

“ I would not have you, through me,” continued the 


278 ST. MAUK; OE, AN EAEL’s WOOING. 

sufferer, laboriously, “ do aught your free heart would 
not confirm. There are things I want to know, 
something I would ask you,” and with difficulty and 
great effort, using the only hand over which he had any 
control, he partially held up the volume he had shown 
St. Maur. 

“ Have you read this ? ” 

She saw the book and knew it instantly, as she 
replied, hesitatingly, her pale face now flushed ; 

“ Yes.” ' 

“ I thought so — I knew it.” He spoke slowly, each 
sentence being' fainter, harder drawn ; adding : 

“ Do you know who the author is ? ” 

“No, I can only think,” she answered, lowly. 

“ On your reply — to me, to another,” he went on, 
“ hangs a weight of sorrow or happiness. Will you 
tell me — for it must be a blank to others — but do you 
understand it as I do? Do you see its passionate, 
hopeless appeal, and do you know, can you feel for 
whom it is ? ” 

“ Why do you ask me ? ” she murmured, “ will it 
give you pleasure to hear, or is it for others?” 

“ Before my God, no one knows of this save myself,” 
he uttered, solemnly; “but, as I have said, your 
answer bears grief or joy to me ; to another, its images 
tell their own story plainer than anj^ words of mine 
could ever do. Will you tell me ? ” 

Again she paused, the reply trembling on her lips. 
Never mind at Avhatever cost to her own feelings, she 
must not mislead him, but answer as her heart dictates. 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 279 


“Yes,” she said slowly and distinctly, with a sweet 
sadness in her voice, “I know for whom it was 
intended ; to me as to you, it is undisguised.” 

“And now. Miss Carleton, one word more — and I 
will trouble you no longer. Is there hope — hope for 
love returned, for that which has been poured out so 
sacredly before you ? I beg of you to answer me — to 
let me know this one thing — before I die.” And he 
bent forward, waiting eagerly to catch the words. 
Only a slight sobbing broke the silence around. “Will 
you tell me — only this one thing?” he repeated, 
pleadingly. 

Almost inaudibly, trembling, she faintly answered : 

“ Yes.” 

And then the stillness again ; only the breezes rus- 
tling the branches, only the leaves falling sadly to the 
ground. 

“ Erroll.” 

“ I am here,” he said, hastening to Trevellyan’s side. 
“ Do you want me ? are you worse ? ” 

“ No, not worse ; that could scarcely be, for I have 
no pain; but I feel strangely, I can hardly tell you 
how.” 

“ You have exerted yourself too much, let me carry 
you back to the house,” demanded St. Maur. 

“No, I would rather linger here, the sun feels warm 
and pleasant. What color is the western sky ? ” 

“ It is a beautiful gold and purple, and the sun will 
soon sink behind the hills. Do you feel better?” 
anxiously he enquired. 


280 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


“Do I feel better?” Trevelljan repeated. “No, 
yes. I can hardly tell. I think, Erroll, the end is 
coming. Is my mother there ? ” 

“She is on the terrace below, shall I call her?” 
replied St. Maur, brokenly, stroking his friend’s hand, 
which was almost pulseless and cold. 

“ No, it is better not.” 

Bessie was supporting Lucille; both were weeping 
bitterly. 

“Erroll, I must speak. My heart is too full. It 
will all come true, as I told you — Miss Carleton, 
would you place your hand in mine. Is it there? — I 
can not feel — Erroll, is yours there — you know I can 
not see — both — Miss Carleton, tell him for my sake — 
my last wish — is it so ? ” 

She dared not look up, and yet, all this was for her, 
and she sobbed faintly; 

“ Yes.” 

He held their hands together for a moment, gently 
pressing them as far as his waning strength would 
allow, murmuring ; “ My God, I thank thee — ” His 
head drooped, his spirit seemed fast failing. 

“ Erroll, it is growing dark, very dark. Where are 
you?” 

Here, Audley, here. Can you not feel my touch?” 

“No, I can feel, see nothing — it is coming, coming 
now. Bessie, I can call you so for once, will you take 
my hand ? Are you all there ? ” and then for a moment 
he seemed to wander, uttering words thick and incohe- 
rently, and then clear again, 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL's WOOING. 281 


“ Erroll, will you tell her — tell Bessie ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied St. Maur, struggling for calmness, “ I 
wUl tell her all.” 

“ Erroll, kiss me, just once. I have loved you very 
dearly.” And he stooped down and kissed the poor, 
charred, distorted face. 

“ Good-night — good-by. Better love — hath — no 

man — than this ” 

The life had passed away. Amid the fading crimson 
and gold, with the gentle breezes of that beautiful 
autumn evening, went out as true and brave a soul as 
ever winged its flight to the throne of grace — to the 
jasper gates and the streets of gold. 


282 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

LITTLE fan’s WANDERINGS. 

HEN Fannie recovered consciousness from her 



fright, she was lying, weak and faint, on the 
hard pallet in the corner of her bare, cold room. A 
glass of water and plate containing dried toast and 
butter was placed on the floor near by, as also in close 
proximity, a vial of medicine. 

How she arrived, or how long been there, were 
things past comprehension. She knew that she felt 
hungry, and in reaching out for the bread her arm 
trembled and shook so violently that it was with difii- 
culty she obtained it. The water and crust seemed to 
give her strength, and she endeavored calmly to collect 
her wandering senses. 

“Was it last night?” She shuddered at the recol- 
lection of the old man’s bony grasp and horrible impre- 
cation, then she remembered the cause which led to 
such consequences, and here she commenced to ponder 
and consider what could be done to avert the evil that 
threatened the kind, beautiful lady. There was an 
undefined calamity presaging her that might in some 
way be avoided if information could reach her of these 
men’s machinations, and little Fan resolved that, hap- 
pen what might, the lady should be told. But whom 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 283 

could she trust to do it ? Every body seemed to be 
her enemy. She was even afraid of Dan. They might 
extract her information and confine her afterward, so 
there would be no possibility of warning. No, she 
must do it herself, and from that moment she began to 
plot, and afterward to carry her plans into execution. 

The little maid had no idea that instead of a day, 
she had been thus lying a week, in a low delirium. 
Mrs. Squint had exerted herself, and been extraordi- 
narily active in her domestic’s behalf, so far as 
administering the proper draughts and giving the 
simple nourishment required. Beyond this the child 
had to recover as best she might. Mrs. Squint’s 
conscience was clear ; she had performed her duty. 

Fan was fast making up her mind what to do. She 
eat the whole of the spare allowance, and felt better 
and stronger. It does not take long for those who are 
accustomed to labor and privation to recuperate, and 
when the attorney’s wife next made her appearance, 
the patient, though feeble, was much improved, and 
mending rapidly. Her mistress remarked her recovered 
appetite. Fan does not devour the whole of the food 
which disappears. On the contrary, she only consumes 
about one half, carefully concealing the remainder 
under her mattress. After a few days of such saving 
preparations, and when she made up her mind that her 
strength was sufficient for the undertaking contem- 
plated, the small hoard of coins left from the donation 
to Slummer’s Dick, were carefully tied in the corner of 


284 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


her handkerchief, and with the provisions upon a larger 
scale, though similarly arranged, were laid aside ready 
for immediate use. 

The window of Fan’s room was just above a shed 
devoted to the purposes of a summer kitchen, and ad- 
joining this was a high fence, so that the first night 
after completing her arrangements, feeling sufficiently 
vigorous, after the household had gone to bed, she 
arose, clad herself in her warmest garments, and, after 
listening intently for any further sounds, or signs of 
awakened life, gathered her parcels, and letting herself 
down upon the roof, from there to the fence and thence 
to the ground, she stole down the area, coming out 
upon the sidewalk on a clear, frosty, moonlight night. 
Quickly walking on she had progressed several squares 
when a regulation blue garb and felt helmet of a guar- 
dian of the law turned up in front. She felt somewhat 
alarmed at this. He might stop her; but it was too 
late for avoidance, and summing up her flagging cour- 
age, the policeman was somewhat surprised at the ap- 
proaching queer looking little figure, and small weak 
voice that addressed him. 

“Please, sir, can you tell me the way to Went- 
worth?” for she was impressed with the idea that 
Wentworth was the main objective point to be first 
gained. 

“The way to Wentworth?” repeated the astounded 
man. “ What Wentworth do you mean ? East or West 
Wentworth — ’igh or low Wentworth?” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 285 

“ I don’t know, sir, but a beautiful, kind lady lives 
there ; Miss Carleton is her name,” replied the small 
voice, pleadingly. 

“I expect you mean where there was a fire, eh?” 
suggested the man in blue. 

“Yes, sir; that’s it. That’s the place I mean.” 

“ Why, my little woman,” exclaimed the official, in 
astonishment, “it’s a good hundred miles from here, 
and surely you’d never think to walk there, and this 
time o’ night to start.” 

“No, sir, I’m going to ride part of the way,” replied 
his eager questioner, “ as far as I can, that is, as far as 
my money will pay for, and then I can walk the rest,” 
and she grasped the hard-tied knot in the handkerchief 
tighter. 

“ What are you going there for ? ” inquired the offi- 
cer, with a lynx eye to duty. 

“ I’m going to Miss Carleton’s, sir. I know her, and 
there’s something I want to tell her,’’ murmured Fan, 
nervously and confused, afraid of detention, and not 
knowing whether to confide in the man, or not. Proba- 
bly he wouldn’t believe her, might treat her suspicions 
lightly, and then the lady would never hear, or know. 
No, she must not risk a divulgence. 

“Well,” answered the officer, after due reflection, 
pity getting the better of stern duty, “surely,” he 
concluded, “there is no offense here greater than a 
fleeting servant — probably from a hard task-maker — to 
kind friends. He had a child at service himself, and 


286 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


so, without more ado, the kindness of his heart pre- 
dominated, and taking her hand, strode in the direction 
of one of the great depots, saying: 

“I’ll put you on the right road and see you comfort- 
ably fixed, any how. Wentworth is on the nor’ western 
line, but you must be very careful to change cars at the 
Junction, or they’ll keep ahead with you and you’ll be 
lost for certain.” 

They walked in to the huge station, with its flaring, 
swinging gas jets, where engines were puffing, porters 
jostling, and even at this unusual hour, streams of pas- 
sengers arriving and departing. 

“ Let us see how much you’ve got, my lass.” The 
little maid had gathered confidence from his kind de- 
meanor, and unhesitatingly untied the handkerchief, 
displaying her very limited wealth. 

“ Only seven and sixpence,” he muttered, counting 
it over. “Well, we’ll see what the fare is now,” en- 
quiring at the ticket window. 

“Eight shillings and nine-pence to Wentworth, third 
class,” was the short, sharp reply vouchsafed. 

The policeman, returning, poured out Fan’s little 
treasure into his own hand, pulling from his pocket 
what was wanting, and adding it to it. The child 
understood what he was doing, and exclaimed : 

“ Oh, please sir, don’t give me your money, I can 
walk, after the fare gives out ; indeed, indeed I can ! ” 

“ Never mind,” he answered evasively, “ I’ve done it 
to change my luck, so don’t say another word, or maybe 
you’ll spoil it.” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 287 


Not exactly understanding this, further than she was 
enjoined to keep silence, for fear of working ill, she 
remained passive under his direction. 

The ticket was bought, and with the protective influ- 
ence of her burly cavalier, little Fan was snugly 
stowed away in the railway carriage, with many and 
strict warnings to mind “ The J unction,” or “ she ’d 
be lost certain,” besides which, directing the Guard’s 
attention to her, he departed, not without a touching 
exhibition of gratitude from the befriended child. 

The bell rang, the engine screeched, and the train 
went on, first slowly through the suburbs, then faster 
and faster as it reached the outlying country, until 
fairly flying through the chilly night; now slowing, 
now stopping, then onward again into the unfathomable 
darkness. Little Fan for a long while peered out at 
the obscure hedges and fences as they flew by, and then 
she became drowsy and nodded, but remembered “ the 
junction,” and with eyes pressed open wider than ever, 
tried to discern the fleeting objects. Again she nodded, 
and again endeavored to keep all the more awake, 
but to no purpose, and, wearied and exhausted, fell 
into a profound slumber, unconsciously sliding from 
her seat to the floor, where she lay, huddled in her 
shawl, which had been wrapped tightly around her, fast 
asleep. 

The cold gray of the morning light was just appear- 
ing as the train halted for change of passengers to 
Wentworth. The Guard looking casually in as passing 


288 ST. maub; or, an earl’s wooing. 


the door where little Fan lay, and observing the seat 
unoccupied, concluded she had escaped into the oppo- 
site train before his arrival, and giving the signal to 
start, jumped into his box, all unconscious of the 
sleeping child. 

The sun was shining brightly as little Fan awoke, 
and the cars were entering a long covered platform. 
Doors were slamming, passengers getting in and out, 
and baggage being trundled away. A man was passing 
with a basket of oranges upon his arm, whom she 
ventured to address. 

“ Please, would you tell me, if we have reached the 
junction to Wentworth?” 

“You’ve passed it, twenty miles back,” was the 
unpropitious answer. 

“Let me out. Guard, Guard, let me out,” she 
screamed at the top of her voice, vainly tugging at the 
door, as that individual, attracted by the shrieks, 
hastened to the spot. 

“Well, little Missus, what’s the row,” he inquired, 
unlocking the door. 

“ I’ve come past the place. Oh ! what shall I do ! 
What shall I do ! ” she cried in a burst of grief. 

“ Let’s see your ticket ! ” He said as she handed it to 
him, “Why this is for Wentworth, you should have 
crossed over at the junction.” 

“ I know sir, but I fell asleep, and no one told me,” . 
she replied hopelessly. “ What shall I do ?” 

“Not my fault. Miss. The Guard behind me’s to 


ST. MAUR; OR, AK EARL’s WOOING. 289 


blame, his route ends when we changed at the last stop. 
Can’t do anything for you, must’nt delay the train,” 
and waving his hand to start, sprang in as the train 
moved away, leaving Fan in the midst of a curious but 
not over sympathetic throng. 

Her first impulse was to get rid of the rude, staring 
people around, and dashing a tear from her eye, clutched 
her shawl and bundle tighter, and passed out into a 
strange street. Arriving at a more quiet spot, she 
timidly enquired of an old woman the nearest way to 
the desired destination. But no information did she 
receive ; the old woman, after inspecting her closely, 
declaring that “ it was a pretty thing for the likes o’ her 
to be asking for places as was ’nt nowhere, she’d better 
go home, if she had a decent one, instead of runnin’ 
about in such brazen bare-face style. It was a shame, 
and that she herself was too old to be fooled by the 
likes o’ that, and to git along with her imperance.” 

Little Fan, disheartened after this tirade, sought the 
open fields, and finding a warm spot upon the sunny 
side of a haystack within a farm yard, sat down to 
cogitate and break her fast out of her store of 
provisions. 

She was interrupted in her reflections and breakfast 
by a bevy of children, who from a distance descrying 
her retreat, flocked around, the elder plying her with 
all sorts of questions, whilst the younger stood dumbly 
staring. At last the farm woman came, and being of a 
kindly disposition scattered the children, and took her 
18 


290 ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 

into the house, setting warm milk and bread before her. 
The little wanderer’s strength had been wonderfully 
taxed for one so lately arisen from a sick couch, and she 
was too feeble to proceed; seeing which, the woman 
gave her encouragement to linger, which was gladly 
availed of. Fan doing such household work as she was 
able, for compensation. After a good night’s rest and 
directions as to the way. Fan re-commenced her jour- 
ney, the farmer, as he was going to the next market 
town, giving her a lift for the first few miles and slip- 
ping a shilling into her hand at parting, drove off 
before she could either protest or thank him. 

Plodding bravely on over the frosty ground the miles 
at first sped rapidly under little Fan’s steps, and then 
more slowly as she became weary and footsore. Finally, 
as evening approached she neared what appeared a 
place of no inconsiderable importance, for upon its very 
threshold she was stopped, and accosted by one seeming 
in authority as to her destination, and the replies being 
unsatisfactory, the personage was about to carry her 
before the town officials, as a vagrant, but eluding his 
grasp she ran nimbly past, upon which — being a great 
awkward lout — he raised the hue and cry, and ere long 
Fan was pursued by a motley crew, gathering numbers 
at every step, the air resounding with their yells. This 
gave additional terror, and induced the child to flee 
the more swiftly ; indeed she was outstripping her fol- 
lowers when, rushing blindly against the wheel of a 
passing wagon, would have fallen had not the driver 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 291 


reaching out caught and lifted her into the vehicle, and 
soon they left the pursuers far in the rear. 

She was too stunned to do more than lie patiently in 
the bottom of the cart, which contained two women 
besides the swarthy, ill-favored driver. When they had 
gotten well away from the town, the man glanced back 
at the recumbent figure of the child, whose forehead 
was cut and bleeding from violent contact with the 
running gear, and which one of the women was 
endeavoring to staunch with her apron. 

“ Has she any money ? ” queried the driver roughly. 

In an instant, no resistance being offered, their hands 
were thrust in her skirt, bringing forth the solitary 
shilling that had been given her by the farmer. “ Is 
that all? ” quoth the man in a gruff, disappointed tone. 

The women, afraid of displeasing him, searched once 
more but produced nothing further. He took the 
money, tried it between his teeth and slipped it into his 
waistcoat. Again they trotted on silently for more 
than an hour. Night had descended and the jolting of 
the vehicle jarred the child’s bruised head, but her blis- 
tered feet were gaining rest, and they were moving in 
the right direction. At last halting in a grove, she was 
told to descend. There were one or two more queer 
looking wagons, fires were built, and people sitting 
and standing around them, smoking and talking. Fan 
knew sufficient to perceive if was a gipsy’s camp, and 
her companions belonged to the company, for though 
there were few greetings, still they spoke together, 


292 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

pointing at her and seemed to be consulting. They 
handed her some supper, helped themselves and crawling 
under their wagon covers, lay down to sleep. Fan was 
left to herself. Evidently they cared little if she 
remained, or departed, so obtaining a slight repose she 
noiselessly stole away from the bivouac, and with 
renewed vigor continued her course, starting in affright 
from every bush and brake which appeared, in the dark- 
ness, to conceal a wild beast or desperate looking high- 
wayman. Coming to a wayside tavern she crept into 
an open stable and sought shelter under the bunches of 
straw. Just as her eyes commenced to droop, a great 
watch dog scenting her hiding place, barked ferociously, 
and would have attacked her, had she not climbed into 
the rack above. Presently the hostler appeared bearing 
a tin lantern, and searching for the cause of disturbance, 
let its rays fall full upon the figure of the child. 

“ Hullo ! what are you doing here ? ” he cried, ward- 
ing the brute off with a blow, and seizing her by the 
arm. “What’s the matter, can’t you answer?” he 
shouted, shaking her. “Well, then come along with 
me,” and suiting the action to the words, he half 
dragged, half led her into the house, where were a rude 
set of roysterers, playing cards and drinking ; scarcely 
more than pausing to glance at her, and make some 
coarse remarks. The innkeeper, however, would not 
listen to her story, supposing she was a runaway and 
expecting a reward would be offered ; and under this 
impression detained her several days longer, until see- 


ST. maur; OR; AN earl’s wooing. 293 


ing no advertisements and finding no one sought her, 
let her depart with a rough expletive for having caused 
so much trouble. 

And now, Fan was fast nearing the end of her jour- 
ney. She had crossed the railroad' at the station lying 
nearest to Wentworth, struggling on bravely through 
the wet and cold. It was a stormy afternoon as she 
traversed the road, and when the sun went down, the 
winds moaned and whistled, and the rain and sleet 
dashed in her face, closer she wrapped her shawl around 
her, and breasted the rising storm. She had been told 
the town was not far off, and her heart beat high with 
hope and expectation. For an instant she stopped; 
there was a step behind her, but she could not pierce 
the darkness for more than a few yards, so crawling 
under the hedge as she had done more than once before, 
waited for the traveller to pass; but the person had 
descried the fluttering figure in front, and coming to 
the spot of her disappearance, peered narrowly around 
to discover the manner of so sudden a fleeting, and 
finding out her place of refuge, advanced, taking a 
sharp peep under her hood. 

“Well, if this are’nt the little lady as give me the 
seven bob. Isay, are’nt you Dan’s sister?” queried 
the voice of Mr. Richard Fasting, alias Slummer’s Dick. 

It was a mutual recognition, and as Fan replied in 
the affirmative, prefaced that remark with the plea that 
she was “ doing nothing to hurt anybody.” 

“ Doing nothing to hurt anybody,” grinned Richard 


294 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

increduously, “as if you could hurt anybody if you 
wanted, which I don’t think likely, but what are you 
doin’ here ? ” 

“I am going to the next town,” replied Fan, reluct- 
antly, fearing further detention, and with her spirit now 
well nigh broken. 

“ That’s just where I’m bound,” avouched the other, 
“ and as we’re on the same track we might as well keep 
company. It’s getting colder, so come on,” and Richard 
reached out a hand to help her to rise, and held on to it 
as they walked. 

“ What brought you here ? ” he repeated when they 
were fairly started. 

“ I want to see a lady who was very kind to me 
once,” replied she. 

“ Who may she be ? ” demanded he. 

“Miss Carleton,” she answered hesitatingly, deter- 
mined to divulge no more. 

“ I know where she lives, it’s just on the other side 
of the town from here. I’ll show it to you,” asserted 
Richard, looking curiously at her. 

“ Oh ! I’m so glad,” exclaimed Fan, receiving com- 
fort from this assurance, and feeling no more doubts of 
her companion’s good intentions. “ Do you live here, 
Mr. Richard?” she added. 

“No,” said he curtly, “but I’ve been here before, 
though, I only come down on the last train, but I did’nt 
see you aboard, or get out.” 

“No, I walked from away across the country, and 


ST. MAUE; OR, EARL’s WOOING. 295 

I’m very tired,” said she, feeling more friendly. And 
now the storm blew louder, and they could not hear each 
other well, so they silently pressed on. Richard looked 
seirchingly and mysteriously at her again, but his 
observation was reassuring, and he continued to help 
he' along, even lifting her over the very rough and 
middy places. The night had grown darker and the 
storm fiercer, so that it was with difficult}^ they could 
fae the blast, and Fan would undoubtedly have suc- 
cunbed had it not been for her guide. 

't was not a great while before in the distance they 
coild see the glimmering lights of Wentworth, and now 
th'y are approaching “ Lonedrear House,” and will soon 
ha/e left it behind, when — 

‘ Hush ! is not that some one coming ? ” exclaimed 
Rchard — whose sharp eyes and ears are quicker to 
d tect than Fan’s — suddenly halting, motioning silence, 
aid dragging her to one side. Scarcely had he done so 
ban some one passed swiftly across the road in front, 
fimost brushing against them — an old man with white 
iair and beard. Fan holds her breath in horrible sus- 
pense, she knows whom it is, there is no mistaking, it 
IS the London pawnbroker. 

Richard stoops down and holds her tightly, another 
figure glides by as if following the first in cautious 
pursuit. They waited a little longer, when Richard 
whispered her to keep straight on, she cannot lose her 
course, the lights will direct her, and he will soon 
overtake her, and then he sprang away in the darkness. 


296 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


She would have called aloud after him, but terrir 
fled out of her senses and left alone, she stood trembling 
for a moment and then dashed madly forward. ^ 
carrier’s cart rat’tled at a headlong pace by her, but slje 
did not heed it, and such speed did she maintain thit 
before fully getting over her fright she was in the mi(it 
of the town. Richard had not caught up, and whffe 
was she to go ? The fire shone cheerfully through tie 
panes of the “ Great George,” but she dared not se k 
admission — they might treat her as at the last taveii. 
Richard had said the house she sought was on the fir- 
ther side of the village, and so she wandered on flaggiit, 
foot-sore, and of a fast sinking heart. She lean 
against a stone pillar for rest. It was the entrance 
the church yard, beyond was the open portal whi 
promised shelter from the wind and rain. She entere 
the surroundings had no terror for her, it was not tl 
dead, but the living that she feared, and wearily dra 
ing her tired limbs within the covered way, she san 
down upon the wide stone threshold faint, sick, an 
exhausted, and was soon lost in a feverish, troubled 
slumber. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 297 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

FOLLOWED — DISCOVERED. 

IE Pawnbroker was as usual, in his great barn-like 



,1 place, in close proximity to the rusty stove, which 
yielded a slight warmth around its immediate vicinity, 
leaving the nether corners and recesses of the apart- 
ment in habitual gloom and dampness. A small taper 
burned upon a rickety table at his elbow, and like the 
stove, only shed its influence over a coequal radius. 

It had been a busy day for him. Ships were arri- 
ving, sailors landing and pawning their few articles of 
value for ready money. Together with Daniel, he 
has been continually occupied taking in the various 
pledges, much time being consumed in adjusting their 
nominal trading value. Daniel has departed to the 
“Varieties,” leaving the Jew alone, who did not appear 
to take that keen interest in his money grasping which 
had been his wont. He looked more aged, the face 
more wrinkled and haggard, his eye feverish, and a 
strong smell of brandy pervaded the close atmosphere. 
His mind seems to be clutching in the future ; it may 
be there is better and larger game in view. 

“ Strange,” he muttered, “ I have heard nothing of 
Squint; very strange.” As thus soliloquizing, there 
was a rap on the door, and he hobbles forward in his 


298 ST. MAUR; OR; AN earl’s wooing. 


loose carpet-slippers to attend the summons, cautiously 
opening the aperture as far as the chain would allow. 

“ Who ’s that? ” he asked. 

“ Me,” said the well-known, high-pitched voice of 
Mr. Squint. “ Hurry up and let me in, don’t keep a 
man standing here freezing in the cold.” 

The chain was immediately unfastened, permitting 
him to enter, and the entrance closed again with the 
same precaution. 

“ Why the devil don’t you keep more fire ? ” contin- 
ued the attorney, hovering over the stove and rubbing 
his hands, adding, “ and a little more light would make 
your infernal hole more bearable.” 

Squint was rather savage in his tone, from which 
the other knew him too well to argue that things were 
going smoothly with the lawyer. 

“ Why haven’t you been here before ? ” commenced 
the Jew, irately; but quickly perceiving it was an 
ill time to bring accusations, broke off with an .eager 
enquir}^ of: 

“ What news, what news ? Have you seen him ? ” 

“News? That miserable Proctor, I ’d give something 
pretty to catch him, just once. I ’d wring his infernal 
pride out of him.” 

“ What did he say ? ” 

“ Nothing ; nothing. Treated the matter very lightly. 
Got on his high tune ; “ really couldn’t see it was any 
business of his at all,” and some such stuff. I ’ll make 
him see though, and that before long.” 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 299 


“ Did he say what steps he would take ? ” asked the 
Jew, anxiously. 

“No, I tell you. He said nothing,” repeated the 
attorney, testily, “ and I don’t see exactly what we are 
to do.” 

“Won’t he consult with the young lady?” further 
questioned the Pawnbroker. 

“ No, he won’t even do that. Says I must see her 
myself,” mused Mr. Squint. 

“ Well, we must bring suit,” suggested the other, 
complacently. “ That is the best and safest course. 
You know I need not appear, you are the one to 
‘defend the widow and the fatherless;’ ha, ha,” he 
laughed at the idea. 

“ Bring suit, you fool ; I told you that was our last 
resource, and you must not suppose you will be kept so 
much in the background either ; but compromise, man, 
compromise first, and, if absolutely necessary, the suit 
afterward — which I have my doubts about,” faltered 
the lawyer. “ I don’t want it sifted if it can be 
avoided ; a good round sum in cash, that will satisfy 
us at present, and afterwards we can trouble them a 
good deal — and have another compromise, maybe a 
third ; but it won’t do to strike against that lynx-eyed 
Proctor, he had the brass and impudence to intimate 
he saw through the whole thing ; but it ’s none of his 
business yet, I say, Moses,” he exclaimed, brusquely 
sniffing the air, “there’s a strong smell of brandy 
about here,” and he looked at the Jew suspiciously. 


300 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ Brandy, how could I buy brandy ? ” replied Moses, 
gruffly ; “ but let ’s get to our business, and see what 
can, and is to be done.” 

“ My friend,” declared the attorney, solemnly pla- 
cing his hand on his shoulder, “ there is brandy in this 
room, and by the smell, good brandy ; come now, I 
confess I would never have suspected you. Don’t let 
us start out trying to deceive each other ; that liquor ’s 
here and I want some of it. It clears my brain and 
gives me fresher, newer ideas, so come, let’s have it.” 

“ But I tell you I haven’t any,” persisted the other, 
in no amiable mood. “ I haven’t taken a drop, except 
the beer at the corner with you, for these twenty 
years.” 

“ That may all be very true, Moses, but I have 
observed a change in your appearance in the last few 
•months, and I can guess now pretty well how it origi- 
nated and progressed; so let’s have the bottle, or I 
will not say another word, and there are occurrences 
which have taken place since I last saw you and which 
have been the means of my not coming here before, 
that you would like and must hear of, for they may be 
fraught with the most serious consequences for both 
of us.” 

“ Curse you and your infernal obstinacy,” grumbled 
the Jew, shuffling to one of the small boxes which 
lined the walls, and unlocking it, produced a large, 
black flask of brandy which, placing upon the table 
with an angry thump, “ there take it,” he shouted, not 
concealing his rage, “ and be d — d to you ! ” ' 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 30l 

“ Ah, ha, my friend, so I was right ; bnt where are 
the glasses? — glass^ I should say, for I don’t suppose 
you want any. But let’s have two ; where the ewe is, 
the lamb ’s not far off, and so where the liquor is, 
the glasses are near; so come, no fooling, but get 
them,” demanded Mr. Squint, concluding. 

“ Get them yourself,” snarled the other, “ you seem 
to know so much about it.” 

“Well, I’ll look. Why, here they are, under the 
table ; but it ’s only one, and it ’s not dry either. That’s 
good, very good. This will do, I don’t suppose you 
want any,” mixing some of the spirits with a little hot 
water on the stove. “ Ah I it’s excellent, excellent,” 
he continued, smacking his lips and setting the tumbler 
down. 

“Well, suppose you tell me of the occurrences you 
alluded to, now that you have your liquor,” said the 
Pawnbroker, testily. 

“ Got it? yes; but don’t raise your hopes,” — for the 
other was about to withdraw the flask, which move- 
ment the attorney quickly interrupted — “yes, I ’ve got 
it, and intend to keep it and have more. I have to 
inform you, to begin with, our maid, little Fan, whom 
you frightened out of her wits, and I ’m not surprised,” 
continued the lawyer, the liquor beginning to have a 
pleasant effect, and inspecting the other, “ I should 
have been scared myself had I not seen you in your 
true garb before. You ’re not an object to infuse confi- 
dence — well, there — there — don’t interrupt me — the 
child ’s gone.” 


302 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


“ Gone ! where ? ” cried Moses, starting up. 

“ That is just what I don’t know,” replied Squint, 
“ although I ’ve enquired everywhere ; but I have come 
to the conclusion,” he kept on, “ that if there was any 
harm to come of it, we would have heard of it ere this, 
so I am not so worried as at first ; and then there is 
another reason why we must hurry this affair up, and 
that is, there ’s no peace at my house so long as this 
Madame Carleton and the squalling child are there, 
and if we don’t take care she ’ll let the whole thing out. 
It ’s as much as I can do to keep her tongue quiet for 
five consecutive minutes, so I ’ve decided you must go 
down and see this young lady as quickly as possible.” 

^'‘You've decided,” snarled the Jew. “I suppose you 
have decided for me to do everything, but I ’m not 
particularly anxious to jeopardize my bodily welfare.” 

“ I know that very well,” rejoined the lawyer , “ but 
I don’t ask you to do anything of the kind. You have 
met Miss Carleton, you know her, you have done her a 
small favor,” he said, with contemptuous derision; 
adding, satirically : “ What I want you to do, is to see, 
talk to, and advise her in your kind, disinterested way. 
If you don’t accomplish anything, you will at least find 
out how things lie, and see what Proctor ’s going to do. 
It ’s all fudge, what he said to me. If I only knew 
how to do it,” he continued, thoughtfully. “ I ’ll tell 
you what, I ’d offer him a share. I don’t believe he’s a 
bit above it, only I can’t trust him, that’s all.” 

“Trust him? How many do you want to take into 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 303 


your confidence ? ” screamed tlie other, ■ thoroughly 
aroused. “ If you go on this way, I ’ll have nothing 
more to do with it. I ’ll have nothing more to do 
with you. I won’t be seen with you ! you shan’t 
come here ! ” he shouted, louder. “ If you want trans- 
portation, get it and be cursed to you, but you shan’t 
drag me down with you. I won’t run any such risks. 
Trust the enemy himself — trust the arch fiend at once, 
and put yourself safely in his claws.” 

“ Not quite so fast, my friend — not so fast,” ex- 
claimed the lawyer, raising his hand deprecatingly, “ I 
haven’t said I intended trusting him. I only remarked, 
I wished I knew him, and as for the matter of a chance 
‘ ticket of leave,’ I have no more desire for it than you, 
though probably you know more about such things, 
eh?” giving the other a penetrating glance upon 
general principles and the vague supposition that there 
was enough somewhere concealed in this man’s life to 
warrant such an ending. 

“ What do you mean, talking to me in such a man- 
ner ? ’’ breathed the Jew, heavily. “ What do I know 
about transportation, more than you ? You are drunk ! ” 
And his whole body seemed to tremble with excitement 
or fear, and hastily seizing the single tumbler, quickly 
drank off its contents. 

“ Where ’s the glass ? ” said the attorney, not per- 
ceiving the hasty action of his companion, and search- 
ing for the liquor. “You sly dog, you’ve got it, 
have you, and you have been trying to deceive your old 


304 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

friend Squint? Oh! fie, fie! ain’t you ashamed of 
yourself? and you do drink! You pious old fraud — 
you miserable sinner ! ” 

“ No, I don’t drink; but I felt a little cold just then, 
and don’t like to he spoken to in that way, either,” 
whined the old man. 

“Well, I won’t do so again; but you do appear a 
little nervous,” observed Squint. “ It won’t do to show 
it to others though, they might suspect there was. some- 
thing wrong in your antecedents ; but to me who know 
you so well, why it don’t matter; so don’t get cross, 
here’s luck to you ; it ’s a pity we hadn’t two glasses, 
we might toss a health and luck to both of us together. 
However, here goes,” and he drank it off. “And now 
to the subject. You will have to see the lady.” 

“ Well, go on. I have to see her “soon about the — 
the — no matter what, go on,” repeated Moses. 

“I know, the diamonds. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ” laughed the 
lawyer, “ but that was a clever trick. How well you 
did it. I don’t suppose she ’ll ever see them again. 
Oh, no ; you are too sharp for thaVmy dear.” 

“Never mind that,” grinned the Jew, in better 
spirits from his libation, “what do you propose my 
doing?” 

“ I will tell you,” said the attorney, leaning over the 
table confidentially. “ Go down there as soon as you 
can. Go to-morrow, before Proctor gets there; the 
cunning fox, he won’t delay. Tell her these things 
have come to your knowledge surreptitiously ; tell her 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 305 


a tale of sorrow and misfortune ; harp on the connec- 
tion, the relationship — do anything to gain a point, to 
excite her sympathies, and then we will have a fair 
field to work on.” 

“ Well, I will go down to-morrow and see what I can 
do,” decided Moses; but Daniel appearing at this 
moment, interrupted further conversation. As the boy 
was slinking past the attorney’s position, that worthy 
espied and accosted him with, 

“ Ah ! Dan’l, is that you, and how was the perform- 
ance to-night ? ” 

“’Bout the same,” replied the lad. “Allers the 
same; I see no difference now.” 

“ Was the French lady there ? ” 

“ Yes sir.” 

“ And what was she doing, Dan ? ” 

“ She were a skylarking with a most everybody, and 
they say as how she’s a goin’ to dance some night 
herself. She makes a big fuss cause Stalker don’t keep 
her drink, some sort o’ a French mixture, though he 
says he ’ll get some for her.” 

“ That will do, Dan,” said the lawyer, with a wave 
of the hand, turning to his companion. “You see how 
it is, she ’ll break the whole thing up, if we are not quick 
and careful. She’s a French hussy, with not a grain of 
sense, and we had better end this matter as soon as 
possible, before standing a trial. If we had a better 
Principal, there ’s no telling what we couldn’t achieve ; 
and another thing, I’m tired of this woman and 
19 


306 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

squalling brat in my house, there’s no peace with them. 
She ’s always drinking infernal absinthe, and every night 
goes to the Varieties, though Kosa ’s tried every means 
to keep her away, and she and ‘ Minny ’ are continu- 
ally having a row, until I believe the French nurse 
begins to suspect something, and that would jeopardize 
our case.” And so irritably draining the last of the 
flask and donning his cloak. Squint sallied out into the 
cold, to home, to quarrel, to bed. 

Having been kept well posted, through Rosa’s corres- 
pondence with Dolly, of events and movements at 
Wentworth, the Jew, upon the following day, leaving 
Dan’l in strict charge, took an early departure for the 
country, not, however, without unconsciously subject- 
ing himself to the watchful gaze of Mr. Richard Fasting, 
formerly of “ Slummer’s.” That youth had continued, 
as Dan’l had remarked, to hang around the close vicinity 
of the shop, with an occasional peep in, and learning 
from such signs of preparation as he could espy from 
the outside, that the pawnbroker was about to indulge 
in one of his migratory trips, no sooner had Moses 
started out than Richard was keeping at a sure but 
respectable distance behind. Surmising from former 
inquiries of Dan’l, and his own cogitations, there was a 
hidden place of treasure to visit, he concluded that he 
might obtain revenge and enrich himself at the same 
time, and had waited patiently for such an occasion 
as this, being fully prepared to take advantage of it, 
and when dogging his footsteps discovered the Jew’s 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 307 


destination, hastily expended his last shilling in a ticket 
upon the same train, and for the same place, carefully 
keeping out of the other’s sight. 

Moses Hosier presented a more cleanly, better exte- 
rior than usual. He was dressed respectably, travelled 
respectably, and argued to himself that he had a respect- 
able object in view, carrying a neat, taut satchel, though 
it contained no change of apparel, this being a matter 
that seldom, if ever, troubled him, but stowed securely 
within its recesses was a good stone jug of brandy, 
excellent brandy, the same of the night before, and 
which was obtained of his sailor friends cheap, very 
cheap, by reason of a slightly defective title. 

The morning was raw and cloudy, and ere he had 
gone many miles, turned into a driving sleet, giving 
the whole landscape a cold and cheerless aspect. In 
the carriage, which he occupied alone, there was an ex- 
cellent opportunity of applying to the satchel, and from 
thence to the jug, for comfort within, and against the 
dreariness without. These advantages were not allowed 
to pass by unheeded, but were taken full and due ad- 
vantage of, and his libations were frequent and not far 
between. 

Upon coming to the Wentworth station, he took the 
lumbering veliicle denominated a stage, for this last 
portion of the journey, and it was here that Richard, 
not having either the wherewithal, or a separate and 
less conspicuous means of conveyance, was obliged to 
follow the pursuit on foot, accidentally overtaking and 
joining company with little Fan. 


308 ST. mauk; or^ an earl’s wooing. 

Arriving at the Great George, the pawnbroker en- 
tered, observing closely the surroundings with a marked 
curiosity. 

The landlord received him alone, as it was not yet 
the usual hour for his customary visitants of the village 
sexton and confreres. 

Depositing his securely-fastened portmanteau, the 
Jew gave directions for the preparation of a night’s 
lodgings, giving notice of his intention to visit Mr. 
Leslie at the Rectory, and of his return. 

The night had closed in dark and stormy, the rain 
that had been drizzling all day, now accompanied by 
the wind, blew in gusts fierce and loud, rattling the 
tiles and weather vanes as though possessed. 

In all this storm the Jew made his appearance at the 
Rectory door ; the servant looked at him suspiciously, 
keeping him standing until she had informed the master, 
who was at the moment in deep converse with Rufus 
Applegarth in his study. 

“ Please sir, there is a man who desires to see Miss 
Carleton, and I thought it better to let you know.” 

“ I will see him myself,” said the Rector, rising and 
proceeding to the entrance. 

“ Do you wish to see Miss Carleton?” he continued, 
inspecting the visitor with anything but a favorable 
eye. 

“The Rev. Mr. Leslie, I presume,” said the Jew, 
bowing low, displaying his dripping figure, “I have 
business with Miss Carleton, if it is possible to see 
her.” 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 309 

“ I doubt whether she is sufficiently recovered as yet, 
and it is much better that she should have no cause of 
agitation. Could not I do as well?” asked the min- 
ister. 

“You are very kind,” replied he, “but my business 
is with her alone. Might I request you to ask whether 
she will grant me an interview.” 

“ Sit here until I can give you a more definite 
answer,” said the Rector, pointing to a hall chair, and 
going back to consult Applegarth as to the expediency 
and propriety of letting Miss Carle ton see him. 

“I wish you would look at this person,” he went on 
to the Surgeon, “ he wishes to see Lucille, and I do 
not know either from his appearance or condition, that 
it is advisable ; let me know what you think.” 

“Certainly I will,” answered the other, and went 
out to speak to the man, starting slightly back, at im- 
mediately recognizing his acquaintance of the fracas.” 

“ Ah, it’s you,” he exclaimed, advancing, “ a stormy 
night to be out.” 

The Jew recoiled involuntarily from the sudden 
apparition of the Surgeon. He would have quickly 
withdrawn into the night, so great was his consterna- 
tion — even making an effort to reach the entrance — 
then partially recovering his usual calm, though still 
wavering in resolution of hasty retreat, replied, making 
a low obeisance, and remaining bent for the better pur- 
pose of concealing his features. 

“ My sight is not so good as yours, sir, and you will 


310 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

excuse me. The weather is hard for an old man like 
me, and I would not have come out w’as I not anxious 
to have speech of a lady in the house, but I understand 
she is not sufficiently recovered as yet to undergo the 
fatigue of an interview, and so I will not disturb the 
household further, but can call another time,” and 
made in the direction of the door. 

“ Did you come all the way from London ? ” de- 
manded the Surgeon, interrupting his movement. 

“ All the way, sir ; but I will trouble you no further,” 
and he endeavored to pass. 

“ You are not going to venture far upon such a night 
as this ? ” questioned Applegarth, still standing in the 
way, and viewing him with an intense look of interest. 

“Oh! no sir! only to the ‘Great George,’ where I 
have already engaged a room.” 

“ Are you not afraid of missing your way ? If you 
desire I will accompany and assist you.” 

“ Oh, no sir ; it would cause a useless inconvenience. 
I know the path, that is, I came along it, and can find 
my way back, ’tis but a short distance;” and he seemed 
to wait for the other to make way for him. 

“Have you ever been to Wentworth before?” de- 
manded the Surgeon, with strange, repressed excite- 
ment. 

“No, I have never been to this part of the country 
before — not to my knowledge — not to my knowledge, 
but business such as mine often takes us in out of the 
way places,” he answered, drawing his cloak around 
him, and with averted eyes. 


ST. MAUE; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 311 


“ What became of the young man who assaulted and 
robbed you ? Perhaps you have forgotten our meeting 
upon that occasion, as you seem to fail to recognize 
me?” 

“ There were so many about, sir, that I failed to 
notice any in particular, but he was given a term, sir, 
a good term, the rascal, though by some influences the 
charge was lessened and his sentence repealed. You 
recollect it, sir? jon must have an excellent memory.” 

“Yes, I have an exceedingly good memory; might I 
ask if you have the same ? ” 

“ Pretty good, sir, pretty good; but I must be going,” 
taking a step forward. 

“ One moment,” observed the Surgeon, intercepting 
him ; “ I desire to ask a question of you.” 

“With pleasure, sir, with pleasure,” rejoined the 
pawnbroker, seeing that escape was futile, and with an 
unaccountable feeling of uneasiness. 

“ You say yours is a business that leads you in strange 
places,” continued Applegarth, his voice shaking inex- 
plicably. “Can you tell me — and the reason why I 
ask is, that he belonged to your race — if you ever 
knew of, or met a man named Mathew Matherton?” 

The Jew started visibly, his eyes rolled wildly for a 
moment. He had not heard that name spoken for 
thirty years. Shooting a glance of keen fear at the 
other, he regained his self-possession, and replied, 
stroking his beard in an attitude of reflection : 

“ No, I never knew of, or met such a man.” 


312 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ You are sure,” demanded the other, his eyes gleam- 
ing with a nervous brilliancy. 

“Yes, I am sure,” replied the pawnbroker, “but may 
I inquire, why do you ask ? I might possibly come 
across such a person in the future.” 

“No, if you have not, you never will,” said he, 
gloomily, allowing him to pass out. 

Applegarth stood silently brooding for a moment, 
then hastily seizing his hat and coat, told the Rector of 
the man’s departure, and that he himself would proba- 
bly not return, and noiselessly opening the door, fol- 
lowed the diminishing figure out into the storm. 

He knew the path well ; in his many visits of charity 
and wandering marches he had become familiar with 
the whole country thereabouts, scarce a cross-cut or by- 
road he did not know. 

The atmosphere was blinding with the sleet and 
driving rain. He could hardly see a rood before him, 
but ere long, becoming accustomed to the blackness, he 
could indistinctly see the form of the Jew moving in 
front. The latter had been shielding his head and face 
with the great collar of his cloak, and when the portal 
behind him closed, had neither observed its light or the 
noise, and the wind drowned all other sounds. The 
Jew kept on to the Rectory stile ; then, wheeling to 
glance about as well as the darkness permitted, sud- 
denly turned sharp to the right. The Surgeon was still 
inside the Parsonage paling, and, though within a few 
paces of the other, was totally obscured from view. 


ST. mauk; an eapl’s wooing. 313 


As he saw the Jew deviate from the direction of the 
village, he was about to step forward and set him 
aright, but as without hesitation he had swerved from 
the course, and with an apparent familiarity, surely he 
must know there was a path this way and where it led. 
But why should he take it? 

Keeping along close to the fence, down the ravine, 
across the swinging bridge, over the turbid brook, up 
the steep declivity on the other side, still the one uncon- 
sciously led and the other followed. At last, coming to 
the public highway, near to Lonedrear House, the Jew 
halted an instant, looking uneasily around, as before. 
His pursuer stooped close to the ground, though the 
darkness was sufficient pall, and who could hear aught 
in that fierce blast, save the creaking of the trees and 
the whistling of the wind? Cautiously the old man 
crossed the road, almost touching the shrinking, cower- 
ing forms of- Richard and Little Fan. Hugging the 
brick wall of the garden, he steadily glided forward. 

The Surgeon’s nerves were strung to the highest 
pitch. An unaccountable feeling urged him to follow, 
step by step, until the other came to a wooden gate in 
the wall. Unfastening this*by the withdrawal of an 
iron spike, he passed in. 

Applegarth waited a moment to be sure he had 
advanced far enough, and then proceeded in the same 
manner. Passing around the house, he came to a cellar 
opening, through which the Jew had disappeared. 
Descending as rapidly as possible, he paused for further 


314 ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 


results. It was comparatively quiet here. The raging 
of the elements could not be heard so plainly. Com- 
mencing to grope forward, he ran against an obstacle. 

“Ha! what’s that ?” exclaimed the Jew. “What’s 
that ? ” he cried, hoarsely, but no reply came. “ Nothing 
but the rats,” he muttered ; “ they haven’t left the place 
yet. Zounds, I wouldn’t live here, even were I a rat. 
I’ll strike a light. Nobody’s likely to be out to-night, 
and if they are, they will take it for the ghosts. Ha! 
ha ! the ghosts ! ” stopping suddenly, as the walls re- 
echoed the laugh. 

“ It’s dull work,” he continued. “ I’ll have a light, 
though; and where’s my flask?” feeling for this last. 
“ It’s safe ; and now for the matches.” 

The Surgeon felt for a place of shelter, which offered 
itself behind an old water-butt. The matches were 
damp and the old man’s hands wet, so it was with diffi- 
culty one could be gotten to burn. Applying this to a 
small lantern, taken from his pocket, and which, ignit- 
ing, he rested it on the ground. 

“Nobody here,” he murmured, peering about. Just 
then a rat ran over his foot, probably frightened and 
blinded by the unusual light. 

“Curse the vermin,” he cried; “curse the thing. 
Why, it almost frightened me — frightened me! Ha! 
ha! I’m not so easily scared, am I, old fellow, eh?” 
This last being addressed to an untouched and well- 
filled flask, which he produced and took a long draught 
from. 


ST. MAUK; OR; AN EARL’S WOOING. 315 

“ That will cheer me,” he kept on, smacking his lips, 
“ and now to work. I wonder who that man can be ? ” 
reflectingly, at the remembrance of the Surgeon. Bah ! 
it makes my blood run cold to think of him. This is 
the third time I have come across his devil’s face, bah ! ” 
and he shook as with a chill. “ What makes me feel so 
strange in his presence ? What unaccountable dread is 
this that- comes over me ? Ha ! there are ways of get- 
ting rid of spectres. We’ll think over it. I must do 
something, or his face will torture the life out of me — 
the life that is so precious now, when wealth and power 
are just opening to my view. But I must not think of 
him ; it unnerves me ; ” and, with shaking hand, he 
proceeded with the lantern, shedding its rays before, 
and by contrast leaving his track behind cast in greater 
gloom. From the cellar he proceeded to the passage 
way, from the passage to the stair above, ascending into 
the chamber, soliloquizing as he went. 

“ All is safe. No one has been here. But it never 
could be found. If the house burns down, it is safe. 
Chimneys always stand. Yes, the safest place I could 
find — safer than London. I wouldn’t trust them there 
— too many thieves. Yes, this is the safest place. 
Nobody ever comes here; not likely they ever will. 
People don’t visit haunted houses, ha! ha! I’m a 
ghost ! Good ! good ! ” and he ended in a hideous 
laugh, whose echo again startled him and induced 
silence. Stealthily, surely, he was followed, rise by rise, 
step by step, until finally entering what had formerly 


316 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

been the chief bed-room, he sat the light upon the hearth, 
and, stooping down, thrust his body up the chimney, 
leaving nothing but his feet visible, and in a moment 
reappeared, holding in his hand a strong brass box of 
goodly dimensions. Placing this beside the lamp, and 
fitting a key, he unlocked it. Throwing the full rays 
of the light within the casket, it displayed a dazzling, 
almost regal sight. 

There were diamonds, rubies, emeralds — all kinds of 
precious stones — neatly deposited in layers upon dark 
velvet linings — some small, some large, some of great 
value, others of less, and some in their settings — but, 
with all their lustre, they shone with no more brilliancy 
than the Jew’s eyes, as greedily and avariciously, he 
gazed at them. 

“ Ah, my pretty things,” he murmured, running his 
fingers over them, “you are all safe, all safe, better 
than in the Bank of England, better than in my own 
hands. Ah, here is the stone of stones ! ” picking up a 
large emerald and holding it to the glare. “You are 
worth,” balancing it between his fingers, “at least a 
thousand pounds.” Then, taking up a diamond, “ and 
you two thousand. I could get that for either of you 
any day, but I don’t want it. Not yet, not yet. You 
are better than money. Gold runs away, but jewels 
never, never. And soon I will have enough. Then for 
the gold and the winning cards. I have my theory — 
it must win. I’ve worked it out now for twenty years, 
and there can be no mistake, no failure. But, hist ! it’s 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 317 


getting late. I must hasten. My absence is too pro- 
longed.” And taking from his bosom more jewels that 
he had brought, he placed them beside the others. 
Giving the lid a slam, the spring lock closed, and he 
replaced it up the chimney upon a side jamb. Pausing 
for a moment, as if contemplating the surroundings, 

“ This is the room he slept in, the old miser. I was 
entitled to his money, but he wouldn’t give it. I paid 
him back though, the hypocrite,” and with this last 
reflection he applied himself to the flask, extinguished 
the light, and retraced his steps. 

Applegarth had been standing just without, intently 
surveying every action, his veins swelling with madness 
almost to bursting, his brain on Are. 

“ At last, at last,” he murmured, “ it has come at 
last,” and quickly hastened in the trail of the other. 

When the Jew and his pursuer passed Richard, the 
latter separated from little Fan in a precipitous manner, 
which left her to journey alone, and lost no time in 
reconnoitering the situation. Perceiving the light in 
the window above, he climbed a tree near by whose 
limbs approached the casement, and taking a hazardous 
position upon one of them, he could observe with dis- 
tinction the interior, and though not aware of its full 
value, beheld the treasure with covetous and longing 
eyes, and no sooner had the two withdrawn and the 
noise from a cart which rattled by died away in the 
distance, than descending from his perch and gaining 
access, secured the casket from its place of concealment. 


318 ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 


and forgetting his promise to catch up with Fan, indeed, 
oblivious to all else save visions of the contents of his 
capture, even taking his coat off to wrap around it for 
protection and fear of identification, made his way as 
rapidly as circumstances permitted to London, and was 
soon in the company of his fair champion of the “ Va- 
rieties ” — Rosa Spiggott. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 319 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


PARRICIDE. 


S Richard, carrying the treasure of jewels, sped 



Londonward, Moses, the Jew, proceeded with 
uneven step and hard struggles against the elements to 
the Great George Inn, followed close, tracked as like a 
blood-hound, by the creeping figure of Applegarth. 

There was no change in the cosy bar. The same 
people were there in their usual places, albeit Freeman 
Tasker’s love-longings and aspirations had wilted into 
deep and remorseful sighs, intended for the hearing of 
the fair Dolly alone, for the sexton had come to know 
that his was a vain pursuit, the carrier far outstripping 
him, and it was well known what smiling favors he 
met. 

The sexton, upon this occasion, and at this particular 
moment, was heaving forth volcanos of regret and 
hopelessness. The saddler was beholding with pity, 
whilst the landlord was content in the midst of huge 
columns of tobacco smoke, when the pawnbroker made 
his reappearance. 

“Good night to you,” exclaimed that individual, 
“ though a very bad one it is.” 

“ That it is,” spoke Spiggott, as they made room for 
him at the hearth, “ ’tis miserable weather to be out. 
Are you just from the Rectory ? ” 


320 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


“Yes, I left there but now.” 

“ ’Tis strange Mr. Leslie did not make you remain.” 

“I preferred to return; the way is easily found.” 

“ Surely you could not have become so wet in that 
short distance,” said the landlord, looking askant at his 
dripping garments. 

“A moment’s exposure would soak one through 
now,” answered Moses, and suddenly changing the sub- 
ject, “Have you any good food, warm and nourish- 
ing?” 

“ Plenty have we, if you desire it,” replied the host, 
motioning to Dolly, who was sitting behind the counter 
knitting, to have the order carried out. 

“ And get me a brandy punch, hot, for my body is 
chill and my bones ache,” declared the Jew. 

“ I wonder what keeps Jerry so late?” said Toner, 
the saddler, after a pause. 

“ I saw him,” replied Tasker, “ this evening as he 
went to the railway in his covered cart, a slick looking 
trap it is too,” reluctantly giving the necessary praise 
due his rival, with a keen insight into the advantage of 
keeping upon the good side of the family, even though 
his own prospects were ruthlessly dashed aside. 

“Jerry is doing well,” said Spiggott, approvingly. 
“He’s made a good business of it. I doubt not but 
that he has put something aside even now, but for my 
part, though wishing no harm to his trade, I would 
there were no such things as railroads and we had the 
good old stage line back.” 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 321 


“So do I,” flourished the sexton, bound to agree 
with the landlord. “ People whip into Wentworth and 
out again now as if it were nothing. I Bemember when 
there would be at least a half dozen passengers laying 
over here for the night ; those were the Great George’s 
best days.” 

“ Yes,” replied the landlord mournfully, “ I remem- 
ber those times myself, but the business is all gone, all 
broken up ; if travellers dine or sup, it seems as much 
as one can expect, but here’s Jerry now,” and the 
carrier came forward, removing a great oilskin, that 
hung loosely about his shoulders. 

“Why Jerry, you are late,” said the saddler. 

“ Yes,” replied he, giving his hat a shake that sent 
the damp off in a small shower. “ I had to wait for 
some dispatches for Miss Lucille at the Rectory, her 
relations on their way from abroad, and Mr. Proctor 
coming down I believe, forwarded letters.” 

The Jew pricked up his ears. 

“ Mr. Proctor coming down, eh ! did you say ? ” 

The carrier looked at the newly arrived guest, 
answering : 

“Yes, that’s what the message said. Mebbe you 
know him ? ” 

“ I’ve heard of him,” returned Moses, resuming sip- 
ping his hot brandy. “ I just came from the Rectory. 
I took the path, and you were on the road, that is the 
way we missed.” 

20 


322 ST. maue; or, an earl’s wooing. 


“ I suppose,” said Hardin, but he was more silent this 
evening than usual, suddenly breaking out : 

“ It’s about again to-night.” 

Those around, with the exception of the pawnbroker 
knew what “it” meant, perfectly well, so after an 
intervening silence for reflection, the saddler questioned ; 

“ Did you see it ? ” 

“Yes, as I drove by I saw the light as plain as you, 
it was movin’ about the same as ever.” 

The Jew was listening eagerly, sharply he turned 
upon them. 

“ What are you all talking about ? ” 

“About some ’at he saw to-night,” said the worker in 
leather. 

“ What did you see ? ” queried he again, interrogating 
Hardin acrimoniously. 

“ I saw a light in Lonedrear House.” 

“You mean the haunted house by the roadside?” 
returned the guest, seemingly indifferent. 

“How did you know it was haunted?” exclaimed 
the landlord, gazing unsatisfactorily at him. 

“ Oh ! some one told me, perhaps at the Rectory ; I’ve 
heard of these things before, we have such houses in 
London.” 

“ Did you stop,” said Spiggott, addressing the carrier. 

“ Not I,” returned he. “ I’ve no desire to form the 
acquaintance of goblins. I whipped up pretty fast, 
you may depend.” A laugh being indulged in by this 
speech at his expense. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 323 

“We have such things in London,” declared the 
pawnbroker, seriously, “ there’s no accounting for them, 
and those who laugh or disbelieve have ill luck, or some 
terrible calamity; for my own part I have always 
thoroughly believed in them. The air is peopled with 
the souls of the departed. Why should’nt it be ? Can 
any one prove to the contrary? No. Can we have 
our own thoughts, our own experiences ? Yes.” 

All attention was now centered upon the expounder 
of spiritualism who was saying what their superstitions 
made a willing creed of. 

“ I have had experiences myself,” kept on Moses. “ I 
remember a man who scoffed at such things ; that very 
night something appeared to him; he could scarcely 
discern its shape for fright, but the apparition said he 
should remember it, and a red hot hand grasped his ; 
he swooned, and when aroused, there was the distinct 
mark of the five finger points scorched into his arm, 
and it remained there until he died, when, with his 
latest breath, it disappeared.” 

There was a deathlike silence, each one of his listen- 
ers caring not to break it first, and taking advantage of 
this he continued ; 

“ Again, I knew a beautiful lady, so beautiful as to 
be the envy of all, who laughed gayly, saying she had 
no fear, not she — and defied the invisible powers to do 
their worst ; time elapsed, she had forgotten the silly 
speech, the vain challenge, and was sitting alone at 
night ; the door of the chamber opened quietly, she tried 


324 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


to close it, but in vain ; a chair moved to her side, she 
attempted to remove it but couldn’t, a kiss was 
implanted upon each cheek, her beauty vanished, her 
face became old and shriveled, her health wasted and 
she died shortly afterward.” 

Another solemn stillness, which Dolly broke announc- 
ing the guest’s supper prepared, and he followed her, 
chuckling to himself at the hypocritical device taken, 
as a further means of securing his treasure from 
discovery. 

During this time Applegarth, through the unshut- 
tered casement, had kept up a constant surveillance from 
the outside, not caring for the wild fury of the storm 
and cold ; his heart was chilled, but his brain on fire^ 
until, observing the Jew’s departure for his supper, he 
turned away murmuring : “ Just a year and it has com«. 
I will battle against it no longer, it must be,” and 
hurrying to a side entrance, found it unlocked. There 
was no light upon that side, and he crawled softly 
along, ascending the hall stairway he stepped into a 
chamber. It was the same room the landlord had shown 
him upon his first arrival; the high bedstead, the 
ancient wainscoting, the same great oaken press, the 
panelled door opposite, leading out upon a hanging 
balcony — these could barely be seen in the gloom, but as 
if by instinct he knew they were there. A satchel lay 
upon the table; he was right, this was the room to be 
occupied. Stealing to the press and turning the wooden 
button that served as fastening, he secreted himself 
within it. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 325 


Time passed, seemingly an age, moments were as 
eternity, there crouched in his hiding place, he had but 
one purpose, one aim ; in regard to all else his mind was 
a perfect blank. Ere long he heard the innkeeper 
escorting the guest to his chamber ; heard his words of 
precaution, “ take care o’ that step, this way,” as they 
passed over the threshold. A ray of light penetrated 
his place of concealment, and peering through this he 
could see and hear them plainly. 

“Is there anything you wish?” asked Spiggott, 
setting the candle down. 

“ Yes, a tumbler and water.” 

“ Here they are,” said the host, placing them from a 
side stand upon the centre table. 

“ That will do,” rejoined the pawnbroker, and the 
innkeeper bidding “ good night,” withdrew. 

Locking the door carefully after him, the Jew stooped 
down to inspect the fastening, and as he examined the 
apartment, fell into his old habit of soliloquizing aloud, 
muttering ; 

“ This is the same, I remember it well. Why the 
devil did that blundering idiot of an innkeeper put me 
into it! However, I do not care. Let’s have some 
spirits — a little more, just a drop, and then — a little 
more,” at this he chuckled hoarsely, drawing the jug 
from the satchel, “ why you are only half gone,” bal- 
ancing its contents critically. “Plenty for to-night 
though, plenty,” and he helped himself liberally. 

“ My ! how the wind does blow,” he kept on. “ It’s 


326 ST. mauk; oR; an earl’s wooing. 

cold, too, but I’ll soon be warm enough,” casting his 
glance upon the bottle. ‘‘ I wonder who that man at the 
Kectory is. I don’t like him. His questioning me so 
closely, too. I’ll be even with him yet, curse his face, 
he shan’t come near me any more, and my name too, but 
’tis strange, strange, they must have been telling him 
of — of — the little trouble I had here, but bah ; nobody 
knows me now. How long has that been. I should 
think about thirty years ago, and at this season too ; 
why I do believe,” and he started up excitedly. “ It 
must be — yes, this is the very night,” and looking 
wildly around. “More brandy, more I say, quick, I 
never thought of that. Yes, that is the very bed ; curse 
the woman, she brought me trouble enough, and they 
said I killed her ; ha, ha ! I choked her, good — good — 
and they thought to give me to the law as a fitting 
example, but I outwitted them all, and I paid some of 
them back — that fire was an excellent idea, for every 
stroke he gave I paid him back that night ; but more 
brandy — more liquor.” He arose, staggering toward 
the bed, catching hold of the post to steady himself 
ere he lay down, “ but just a drop more, just a drop,” 
and he endeavored to twist himself in the direction of 
the fiery liquid. 

Ha! what spectre is this that eonfronts him as he 
holds up his arms to shut out the fearful apparition ! 
What terrible vision ! Is it his drunken fancy, playing 
upon the stories of the evenings some wild fantasy, or is 
it real? For before — almost touching him — stood 


ST. MAUK; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 327 

Rufus Applegarth, his face white as marble, teeth 
clinched, the breath coming short and quick between 
them, lips bloodless, and the eye fixed. 

The J e w’s arms fell but to meet the same sight ; he 
was suddenly transfixed with dread, his gaze became 
•riveted, his eyes protruded from their sockets with a 
.wild, nameless fear. 

“In God’s name, who are you?” he whispers 
hoarsely and then, “ I know, I know.” He attempted 
to scream but his mouth was dried, his lips glued 
together ; he tried to move, but his limbs refused, pow- 
erless to answer the wiU, he could only stand horror 
stricken. 

Slowly, and yet more slowly, nearer and nearer 
moved Rufus Applegarth, his hands not far apart and 
stretched out before him. The Jew is speechless, 
spell bound. Great drops of sweat stained with blood 
stand out upon his forehead and roll down his palsied 
cheeks; his jaws clatter as though violently shaken. 
Twice he essayed to shriek, but his voice only found 
utterance in hoarse whispers. Is it a dream, a night- 
mare ? He cannot raise hand or foot to defend himself. 
The other’s breath is hot upon his brow ; he sees the face 
before him as though it had been that of the woman 
who had died — died — killed here upon this very spot. 
For once, and once only in all his life did the son bear 
resemblance to his mother, and it was perfect. 

From out the Jew’s parched mouth and drier lips, 
comes feebly, tremblingly forth, the one sentence, his 
last. 


328 ST. maur; or^ aist earl’s wooing 

« You — are — my son, — %'pare — ” and came hissing 
back the answer. 

am — your son — ” and the outstretched hands 
touched him, clasped about his neck, around his throat, 
tighter, tighter, no relaxing, no sound is heard. Sud- 
denly a gust of wind came, the house is shaken to its 
foundation, a minute after a low gurgling noise and 
there lies on the bed an old man with white, flowing, 
matted hair and beard — strangled — strangled to 
death. 

Stealthily, softly, he escaped from the balcony, clo- 
sing the shutters carefully behind, rushes out into the 
wild night ; the blasts whistling by cry murder, the 
winds moan among the trees and they speak murder, 
the rain dashes against his face whispering murder, 
parricide, on — on — but the cry, the speech, the 
whisper are ever there. Pressing through the storm, 
now under shelter of a friendly wall, again in the wet 
and cold, at last to the church beneath the portal. Is 
it the body of the slain man lying at his feet? Poor 
distorted imagination! It is but the wearied form 
of little Fan breathing heavily, yet it cries aloud, 
accuses him. Turning, the very stones over the 
graves seem to cry out against him, and faster than 
ever he flees from the place. No sorrow goads, no 
tears soften, no regret pains — restless in body, with 
mind a blank, one set purpose accomplished, the strain 
is great — too great — more than he can bear, and the 
mental chord is snapped in twain. Still on across the 


329 


ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 

fields, over roads and deep streams, faster — faster — lie 
speeds through the gloom and the wet, until the clouds 
break away and the sun comes forth brightly, as it had 
done that morning one year ago. Nearing the metropo- 
lis, they try to arrest his course ; strong men lay hold 
on him, but he casts them off like withes of straw. Still 
onward speeding, instinct guiding, to his old lodging 
house, and here he is taken, amid the lamentations of 
the kind hearted landlady, and they carry him to an 
asylum, a raving madman. 


330 ST. MAUR; OR; AN earl’s wooing. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

REST. 

T here is a stir in Wentworth. A man has been 
found dead at the Great George Inn. Was it 
murder? Scarcely. No one could have approached him 
unobserved. Spiggott had parted with him last, and 
heard the door secured as he withdrew ; it had to be, 
broken open to gain admittance. Then what meant 
those ugly, black marks around the throat — the prints 
of fingers? what meant the protruding eyes? what the 
fixed look of horror stamped upon the features by that 
last visitant, death? 

The landlord was dazed, only knowing that last 
night was that fearful anniversary ; others whispered it, 
and the older people of the village remember and 
shake their heads in a knowing manner. Mr. Leslie is 
there. Lord St. Maur has been sent for; he is the 
highest magistrate in all the county, and there is a 
prevailing idea in this primeval place that he is next 
the Sovereign in authority. There is no part for, nor 
use of official capacity here, he cannot unravel the 
mystery or restore the dead. A strange death in 
London is nothing, a strange death in Wentworth 
everything. Papers have been found upon the body of 
the dead man — mysterious papers. Mr. Leslie holds 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 331 


them as custodian, has glanced over them sufficientlj 
to inform himself that a dark page of life is being 
slowly unravelled. There are letters in an old pocket- 
case that seem, from their worn, creased, torn appearance, 
to have been constantly carried about the person of the 
possessor, and in them occur the name of Mathew 
Matherton. To an intelligent mind the different 
threads are quickly joined, and is woven one complete 
story. 

Mr. Leslie has recognized in the dead the visitor of 
the previous evening. They at the Rectory must know 
nothing of this, and St. Maur takes precautions to 
prevent it reaching them. 

“ Where is the surgeon ? Where is Dr. Applegarth ? 
has any one seen him ? ” But the enquiries die away 
unanswered, and the Rector does not pursue them. 
Suddenly Freeman Tasker made his appearance, run- 
ning, skipping, as fast as his ungainly gait would 
allow, his face very white, rushing up to Mr. Leslie, 
exclaiming : 

“ Oh ! sir, sir, come quick, there is a dead person in 
the church yard.” 

“A score of them, friend Freeman,” said Spiggott, 
“who don’t know that?” and his speech created a 
ripple of mirth. 

But from his deep earnestness and excited manner, 
the sexton commanded attention, grasping the Rector’s 
hand and pulling him in the direction. “ Oh ! sir, do 
come quick,” he repeated, and looking appealingly at 


332 ST. MAUR; OR, AN EARL’s WOOING. 

those around. “ Good people, come, they might say I 
did it.” 

The crowd, not displeased at a fresh subject for 
wonder, quickly followed the lead of Mr. Leslie and 
St. Maur, and entering the church yard, there, just in 
the portal of the open-arched vestibule lay a little girl, 
cold and inanimate, her short dress sadly draggled, 
shoes worn and smeared with mud, streaming hair 
tangled and disheveled, indicating an exposure and 
privation far beyond her power of endurance. The 
sexton lingered in the rear for fear of being charged 
with participation in what he supposed the development 
of another crime, whilst Mr. Leslie approached and 
kneeling over the little figure, tenderly placed his hand 
upon the brow and lips, the others closing in around 
him. 

“ Is she dead ? ” 

“ No ; in a deep slumber,” he replied; “ but she must 
be awakened. Give me a wrapping, some of you, this 
one is wet, and she is very cold.” 

A woman advanced and threw a warm and dry 
shawl around her, the minister lifted the wan, chill 
hand; the motion and noise roused her, and starting 
up and gazing around, surprised to find herself the 
cynosure of so many eyes, pushed back with either 
hand the tangled clusters of hair from her face. 

“ My poor child, what are you doing here ? ” said the 
minister, in his sympathetic tone. She looked at his 
mild, blue eyes; his kindly, noble face gave her cour- 
age. 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 383 


? 


“Please, sir, is this Wentworth?” said the weak ' 
voice of little Fan. 

“ Yes, my child ; but you must let us take you to a 
warm, dry place and give you food, before we can tell 
you any more.” 

“ Oh! sir, please, sir, but is this Wentworth?” 

“Yes, it be Wentworth,” said several coarse voices, 
in concert, who were leaning close over to catch a 
glimpse of the strange object. 

“Oh! could you, would you pray tell — tell me 
where Miss Carleton lives ? ” and 'she stepped down 
from the stone threshold as if to push her way through 
the throng, to the desired haven ; but her worn, tired 
limbs refused to carry her, and she would have fallen 
had not St. Maur caught her in his arms, tenderly 
lifting her up as he whispered : 

“ I will take you to Miss Carleton, if you wish to see 
her so very much.” 

“ Please, sir, take me to her.” And little Fan looked 
up into the brave, handsome face above, and then 
tired nature gave way and she became insensible. 

St. Maur, pulling the wrapping tightly to ward off 
the chill, frosty air,- carried her as easily as he would an 
infant to the Rectory— Mr. Leslie keeping by his side — 
and then gave her up to the Rector’s sister, a maiden 
lady, who had ever lived with her brother, in whom 
alone she thought there was worth and excellence 
beyond compare, and little Fan was soon tucked in a 
warm, soft bed, with gentle hands, and kind hearts to 


334 ST. mauk; oe, an eael's wooing. 


nurse, and life-long friends to watch over and protect 
her. 

Ere long, she had told the burden of her sorrowful 
story and wanderings, and the beautiful lady who had 
treated her kindly — perhaps the only time little Fan 
had ever been treated kindly in all her life — was 
informed of the terrible machinations encompassing 
her, and the mountains of imaginary evils the child had 
conjured up in her overwrought fancy, to her great joy, 
dwindled into the useless conspirations of wicked 
malevolence against the strong power of the law and 
innocence. 

St. Maur and the Rector had been recalled to the 
inn where the people had again gathered. 

A posse of policemen had arrived, headed by a noted 
detective, in search for the recapture of Mathew Math- 
erton, an escaped convict, at liberty for more than 
twenty years, and they had found him — dead. St. 
Maur and Mr. Leslie exchanged meaning glances. The 
Rector took him aside for a moment. 

“ Have you no suspicion ? Can you understand all 
this?” 

“ Yes,” replied the other, “ it is clear enough. Where 
do you suppose he is ? ” It was hardly worth while to 
mention the name, they instinctively knew the surgeon 
was meant. 

“ God only knows,” asseverated the minister. “ Of 
late, I have considered his mind disordered. Upon one. 
subject only was he clear, and that he understood’. 


ST. maur; or, an earl's wooing. 335 


thoroughly; I mean his profession. Had he taken a 
different path and chosen, he could have stood first 
among the men of his kind. I think the people of the 
village, from his sudden disappearance, suspect some- 
thing, but refrain from accusing, because he has been 
kind to many of them without reward.” 

“ What do you think should be done ? ” questioned 
St. Maur. “Even if he has committed this deed, 
which, knowing what we do, we can hardly suppose 
otherwise, the laAV will not hold him responsible, if, as 
you say, his mind is affected.” 

“ There is nothing we can do,” rejoined the minister, 
“except find out his whereabouts. I am convinced 
that he has either made away with himself, or wfill be 
taken up and placed in confinement. I shall appear 
before the Magistrate or Coroner and give these papers 
up, explain them as best I may ; it is for them to take 
the necessary measures. Is it not horrible! terrible! 
and there is another for whom I feel all the more solici- 
tude ; you may know whom I mean.” 

“ Yes, Miss Egerton. I have seen and known it for 
a long time. It will be a bitter blow to her ; but it will 
be best not to say anything until we know something 
more definite, more certain, and then it must be broken 
very gently. God grant that our surmises may be 
wrong; the man may have had enemies.” 

“ No,” responded Mr. Leslie, “ I have gone over the 
whole circumstances thoroughly in my mind, and I can 
see no other solution, no other explanation. I must 
own with great sorrow, that to me it is conclusive.’’ 


336 ST. MAUR; OR, AN earl’s wooing. 


‘‘ As you say,” continued St. Maur, mournfully. “ It 
seems to point to but one conclusion. However, let us 
hope for the best. I will immediately hasten to 
London, and if Dr. Applegarth has been discovered, 
anything that my influence or friendship can accom- 
plish, shall be dealt out freely for him, and upon my 
return, I will call at the Rectory. Would you ask 
Miss Carleton if I might see her there ? ” The blood 
mounted to his face as he said this last, and the Rector 
with a kindly compliance and warm pressure of the 
hand, left him. 


ST. mauk; OR; AN earl’s wooing. 337 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

LIGHT. 

I T was a foggy day — one of London’s real damp, 
foggy days. Old Mr. Smiles was in possession of 
the intermediate, or second office, at Proctor’s. It must 
be confessed he did not relish it as much as his old 
familiar perch on the high stool. He had a desk now — 
a low double desk — at which he sat between the two 
parts. The same papers that were left formerly to his 
care were still confided to him, laying in sorted piles 
around and before him. Xot having been accustomed 
to them in their new places, at times, when he desired a 
particular item or account, for a moment he would be- 
come lost in a maze of bewilderment, being obliged to 
go over the whole of the different piles, until securing 
the desired document and putting it in a specially desig- 
nated spot, simply, when wanted, not to be remembered, 
and the same search gone over, until, at times, he would 
lay back in his chair, remove his spectacles, wipe his 
eyes, and heartily wish himself back in the old seat. 

It was in one of these weary moments that Mr. 
Proctor opened the inner door, smiling, as he observed 
the evident state of affairs. 

“ What, Smiles, getting your papers into new shape?” 

21 


838 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

‘‘ Yes, sir,” vainly trying to conceal a slight tone of 
hopelessness. 

“ Here, let me help yon,” said the other. “ My desk 
is similar to yours ; ” and Mr. Proctor picked uj) a 
bundle of the unruly j)ackages and placed them in a 
side case, others in pigeon-holes, and thus he wfent on 
until he thought the other had caught the system, albeit 
Mr. Smile’s brain was more muddled than ever. . 

“ You see that is the way I fix mine, and I find them 
convenient for reference.” 

“ Ah, it is a good way, an excellent plan,” rejoined 
the ex-clerk. “I will folio v/ it, sir. You see it’s hard 
to get out of my old ways all at once.” 

“ Now, Smiles, I shall step around myself to Squint’s ; 
beard the lion in his den — more likely interrupt the 
scoundrel in his rascally work. But I have a curiosity 
to inspect Madam ‘ et Vinfant terrible.'’ By the way, it’s 
strange Baroque has not been here ; he was never so 
dilatory before. You say you’ve called twice.” 

“Yes, sir, twice, and again to-day. He’s on some 
undertaking about Wentworth, I was told.” 

“Ah! about Wentworth,” Mr. Proctor repeated, 
quickly. 

Just then, a keen-eyed, dapper little man entered, to. 
whom the agent held out his hand, condescendingly, 
but familiarly. The detective’s services had been re- 
quired before, and it was well to keep on the right side 
of these people. There was no telling what secrets 
they carried in their breasts. 


ST. mauk; oe, an earl’s wooing. 339 


“Ah, Laroqiie, I was just inquiring the reason of 
your not coming. It has been more than a week since 
I sent for you.” 

“ Received your message ; could not come. Something 
special to work up; no time to be lost,” jerked out the 
dapper little man, as he passed into the agent’s private 
room. 

“ Laroque,” said Mr. Proctor, “ there is some infor- 
mation I want to obtain in regard to the movements of 
Squint, the attorney. I suppose you know whom I 
mean ? ” 

“ Know him well,” snapped out the detective, as if 
time were too precious to waste, even in words. 

“Well, he is trying to black mail the Carleton prop- 
erty, in regard to which perhaps you know my relations, 
and I don’t intend he shall do it. I want you to find 
out about a presumedly fictitious heir he is attempting 
to foist upon the estate.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! ” broke out the detective sharply, and 
to the no little disconcertion of the other. “ Know all 
about it. Was in with the job all the time ; was on the 
lay ; had false beard on ; met him in Paris ; thought 
he’d recognize me ; didn’t ; all grist that comes to 
my mill; might as well pick up information; might 
be useful ; made clean work ; played it very well ; 
got warrant for his arrest in my pocket ; trap the 
whole batch; don’t get off too soon.” And he who 
was a detective, in his proper character, now acknow- 
ledged that he, disguised as a French physician in 


340 ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 

Paris, had become Squint’s fortuitous acquaintance and 
pretended accomplice. 

Proctor looked at him wonderingly for a moment, 
somewhat in admiration of the other’s success in his 
peculiar avocation of espial, and said, as a compliment, 
but very truly, “ Laroque, you understand your sphere 
of occupation thoroughly ; none better. So I suppose 
there is no use in my troubling further about the 
matter.” And he felt thankful at his own narrow 
escape in the complication, for, even at this incipient 
stage, it was clearly discovered. What a bungling set 
they must have been. 

‘WVouldn’t worry about it, sir; not at all. Squint 
was put up to it by one Mathew Matherton, formerly an 
escaped convict, but for many years a pawnbroker 
under the very nose of the law, and never detected 
until I took it in hand. It was he who set fire to 
Carleton House. No doubt of it, sir, no doubt ; but he 
balked us after all, for we took him dead ; ” and the 
officer, although his tone was regretful, rubbed his 
hands in self-approval. 

“ You’ve been down to Wentworth ? ” said Mr. Proc- 
tor, carelessly, not at all interested in the subject of the 
capture. Sufficient the incendiary was beyond the reach 
of punishment. And he stood unconcernedly, with his 
back partly turned, running a penknife across his well- 
shaped nails. “ Anything new there?” 

“Nothing, nothing. Slight commotion. Escaped 
convict killed by his son, a surgeon ; safe in custody ; 


ST. mauk; or, an earl’s wooing. 341 


mad house. Something going to take place ; town 
talk ; keep ears open ; Miss Carleton — ” 

“ Miss Carleton ! eh ! what ? ” inquired Proctor, more 
carelessly, as if deeply engrossed in the mysteries of 
nail-burnishing. 

“ Miss Carleton ; Lord St. Maur ; saved her life ; get 
married ; live happily.” 

“ What ! ” cried Mr. Proctor, with excited interest. 
“ Speak more plainly.” 

“All true, every word. Nothing taken place yet, 
but soon will. All come true, every word. Must be 
going. Good morning.” 

“ Stop,” commanded Mr. Proctor, hoarsely, grasping 
his arm with a firmer grip, while his face turned 
ashen-hued as, by a great effort, he went calmly on : “I 
know you too well to let what you say pass idly by. 
Keen observation and danger have taught you to weigh 
words well, and to speak only when certainty marks the 
conclusion. Is this thing so ? ” 

“ Will come as I say. Saw and heard enough myself 
to convince me. Good match — just suited — all will 
come to pass.” 

“It is enough — that will do,” replied the other, 
wearily, passing his hand across his brow. 

“Good morning, sir. 111? Send somebody?” said 
the astute officer, accustomed to all phases of the hidden 
feelings of life. 

“No ; good morning,” repeated Mr. Proctor, absently, 
to the departing figure. Opening a spring in his escre- 


342 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

toire,and then a private receptacle, he drew forth a 
small portraiture of a sweet, lovely face — the artist’s 
photographed copy of the picture at Carleton Park — 
Lucille’s. 

Not presented to him, certainly. Its possession was 
unknown to her. It might have been clandestinely 
picked up abroad, perhaps at Carleton Park. The man 
bent over it, with blanched lips, throbbing brain and 
trembling hand, and thus the noon, the evening, found 
him. “ Lost ! lost ! lost ! ” 

Mr. Smiles, the newly-fledged partner, still lingered 
in the outer office. Mr. Proctor must have forgotten 
his intended errand about Squint. Probably he had 
reconsidered it, maybe forgotten it entirely. Lunch 
came and passed, but the senior member did not make 
his appearance. Mr. Smiles did not care to let inter- 
ruption be the first breach of the old rules in his 
advanced position. Looking up at the big-dialled clock, 
with its brass indicator, that hung on the wall, it was 
late. He listened, but there was no sound. At last, 
as the shadows began to wane, he felt nervous, uneasy. 
“ Psha ! ” he muttered, “ I’m impatient. He stayed in 
the other day, but not so long,” anxiously. “ Were I 
in the old place, perhaps I wouldn’t notice it.” 

Then he heard the desks in the outer apartment 
closed, one by one. The under clerks were getting 
their hats and coats down ; they were talking, jesting ; 
the day’s work was over. 

“ I can’t stand this,” muttered Mr. Smiles, nervously ; 
“I don’t understand it;” and, walking to the closed 


ST. maur; or^ an earl’s wooing. 343 


door, put liis hand upon the knob and again listened. 
No sound. Softly he opened it, not looking in, only 
said, 

“ It’s closing time, sir. Shall I light your gas ? ” 
The clerkly spirit had not departed with the fresh 
honors and emoluments. To his benefactor he would 
ever be the same help, the same servant. 

No answer came. So, thrusting his head through the 
opening, he looked in. There sat Mr. Proctor, his 
hands clasped, his head bowed down. 

“ Are you unwell, sir ? Are you ill ? ” 

A vacant, stony stare was the only reply, and then, 
suddenly, the eyes seemed to soften, a tiny drop started, 
and the strong man leant forward upon the desk and 
the tears flowed fast. 

“ Oh, sir, you are in distress ? ” cried the ex-clerk, 
exhibiting almost as much agitation as the other. “ Is 
there nothing I can do ? God knows I would help you, 
if I could ; ” and he seized the other’s hand, pressing it 
tightly. 

This brought Mr. Proctor back to recollection and 
reality. Rising, he returned the pressure, saying softly, 
“ Ah, Smiles, there are times in all our lives when the 
strongest have their weak moments. Believe me, I am 
grateful for your sympathy, for I know it is disinterested. 
But it is past ; it is over now.” 

“Is it a burden I could help to bear?” and Mr. 
Smiles looked as if he would like to take it all upor 
himself, yet at a loss to know its meaning ; but no deptl. 
of imagination could penetrate its darkness. 


344 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 

“ Nothing, nothing. Ah, Smiles, we old men are, 
after all, the worst of fools. My nerves have been 
unstrung of late. I shall go away for a time, and, if 
you would do me a favor, forget this as though it never 
liappened,” and, wringing his hand, he left the room — 
left the place. , 

Mr. Smiles looked down at the scattered papers, 
which, for once, had been left in confusion, and there, 
just by the chair, lay the picture. He started. A 
gleam" of light was breaking in upon him. His hands 
should not desecrate it. If Mr. Proctor valued a lady’s 
photograph, it should be sacred from him. The impulse 
to gather and restore the confused mass vanished. 
Leaving everything — picture and papers — without 
a breath stirring their fall, he softly, on tiptoe, stole 
back and out of the door, locking it. Ay, but the 
janitor had his fellow keys, and would enter to sweep 
and clean. Mr. Proctor should never know that morta,! 
eye had gazed upon even a broken thread binding the 
link leading to his heart. The janitor might come in 
the night, in the early dawn. The ex-clerk might 
mistake the hour. Sleep might overtake him. There 
must be certainty. He kept watch and ward through 
all the weary vigils of the night, and that room was 
not touched, those papers unseen. Mr. Proctor, ap- 
pearing at the usual time in the morning, his face 
white, the thin lips more tightly pressed, the lines 
about the eyes more plainly marked, passed by, unno- 
ticing the weary look of his fellow-partner — passed 
by him, nearly reached his own door, halted, turned, as 


ST. MAUB; OE, AN EAEL’s WOOING. 345 


though he had forgotten it. Well done, Mr. Proctor, 
well acted, but your audience is not deceived. Why, 
therefore, make imposition upon a faithful henchman ? 
But to Mr. Smiles’ grieving spirit the gleam of light is 
getting broader and now is the perfect day. 

“ Ah ! Smiles, I had almost forgotten. Try and 
have those accounts of the Carleton estate and all 
matters appertaining to it, fixed up as quickly as possi- 
ble. Miss Carleton, I hear, contemplates matrimony.” 

There was an almost imperceptible tremor in the 
voice at “Miss Carleton.” Mr. Smiles understands 
now. The dawn is there ; he knows the sorrows, the 
anguish, only murmuring: “ Very well, sir.” And the 
other went in. 

And after a time, people come and go, pass in and 
out; but the ex-clerk is tired to-day, and he steals off, 
not for rest, but reflection, and his thoughts take the 
shape and cling around the image of a fair American 
girl, for a short time, a former fellow lodger, and his 
thoughts form this answer to the lips : 

“ Ah ! Smiles, we old men are, after all, the worst of 
fools.” And thereafter, daily, at Mr. Cashbid’s portal, 
he left a little bunch of fresh flowers, and sometimes 
the donor sees and speaks to the recipient, and old 
Mr. Smiles and Bessie are fast friends, nothing more. 

There is a poignant grief pressing on the young girl’s 
spirit, a change in her once merry voice, a weary, wait- 
ing look. For hours she sits with clasped hands, 
silently, patiently waiting, waiting for a return of 


346 ST. mauk; oe, an eael’s wooing. 


reason to the lost mind — a return that will never 
come. Her uncle and aunt are all kindness; they love 
her as much — better, they say — than if she were their 
own child. There is no lack of loving w'ords, no lack 
of loving deeds. St. Maur and Mr. Leslie have done 
their best. Almost daily, a carriage draws up to the 
great building, dark and gloomy, with outstretched 
wings, like a great vulture hovering between the sun 
and earth. The Cashbids and Bessie alight. They 
are taken to a cell. She sees him — who was ever 
kind to her, and true. Once only has a ray of reason 
shot into those vacant, listless eyes, and that once, she 
was all he recognized; that past, and forever, it is the 
same, and she returns — to wait patiently, wait. 

There are other changes elsewhere, less important 
and not so solemn. Bichard Fasting, alias “ Skimmer’s 
Dick,” of once attractive memory, has resumed his 
spruce condition and taken the Variety actress to 
Paris, having disposed of his suspicious plunder at one- 
third its real value, and the twain have wasted the 
money; but the cautious Bosa, inadvertently warned 
by her “ friend,” had advised Daniel in time to gather 
the best of the fruits of his labor — “ purquisits,” as he 
was pleased to denominate them — and make away 
with such to the best advantage, so when Bichard’s 
fortune had collapsed, she judiciously drew the other 
string to her bow and flattered the youthful Daniel 
into the belief that he was her paragon, her first and 
only love. 


ST. MAUR; OR; an earl’s WOOING. 347 


CHAPTER XXX. 

CONCLUSION. 

Fair lady, thou shalt never know 
Of time called “weary hours 
God grant, thy future ever be 
A pathway strewn with flowers. 

I T was a mild, unruffled day. A still, quiet calm 
pervaded tlie atmosphere that hung over Maurland 
Towers- and Wentworth, which seemed unconsciously 
to speak of peace, rest and joy. 

St. Maur, riding up to the Rectory gate, loosely 
threw the bridle rein to his groom, and with a light, 
firm step traversed the shrub-bordered walk. Hope, 
the blessed comforter of the human heart, filled his 
breast with bright, sweet visions; there was a buoy- 
ancy in his spirits, though mingled with a strain of 
sadness. 

Trevellyan’s last words were to tell him of the 
success of that hope; and yet it might be, that in 
her sorrow, gratitude and sympathy had played too 
great a part and wrung from her what might afterward 
be regretted; but his soul could tell if the love he 
yearned for was there. 

The Rectory door stood open and he passed in 
without ceremony, glancing into Mr. Leslie’s stud}^, 
but the occupant was not there. He could not long 


348 ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 


have departed, for the ink was scarcely dried on tlie 
open sheet of paper. Could the Rector have deserted 
purposely, upon discerniiig the other approach? St. 
Maur passed on to the parlor, and entered. A lady’s 
household account lay negligently thrown aside, as if 
quitted hastily. Had the Rector’s sister intentions too, 
and in her hurried excuse and withdrawal, was there 
more of purpose than casualty? The red, autumnal 
sun streaming in through the half-open curtains, shone 
through the trembling leaves of the scarlet-colored 
plants in the casements, and lingeringly rested on the 
fair brow of Lucille, lighting up the wealth of wavy, 
chestnut hair, as though burnished gold. 

Glancing up and catching sight of the unexpected 
intruder, a vague, undefined feeling of trepidation 
thrilled her bosom, the old color returned, the hair fell 
back from the lovely face; the dark, shadowy eyes, 
were clear, pure, as the soul within. For a moment St. 
Maur could only pause and gaze on the sweet form 
before him ; for an instant, the very life itself seemed 
hushed, and then the full tide of love rushed over him 
as she arose and essayed to come forward. Their eyes 
met. Oh, Heaven ! how strange, how perfect thy 
wise decrees. Soul cried to soul ! heart spake to heart ! 
as taking her hand gently, he said : 

“ May I hope ? Shall this be mine ? ” And tenderly, 
lovingly, he clasps the little hand. She raised her soft, 
pleading eyefe, full of faith and love. 

“Yes.” And he draAvs her gently to him; nearer. 


ST. maur; or, an earl’s wooing. 349 


closer ; the lovely face finds sure refuge there, and his 
whole heart goes out as he clasps her to his breast and 
whispers that one sweet word : 

“ Lucille ! ” 

Laugh at it, ye callous, who know not what feeling is ! 
Mock at it, ye scoffers, who find a subject even in your 
Maker ! but that love is there which passe th all under- 
standing, which cares not for your idle merriment, not 
for your jeers, which stands pure and bared in the silent 
presence of Jehovah alone, acknowledging him only as 
its Creator and its God. 

iie iif * ^ 

A small, quiet, but happy assemblage is gathered 
at Carle ton House, Great Carle ton Place, in the city’s 
“ west end.” There are no great preparations for show 
or ostentation, but everything goes merry as the sweet 
chimes of marriage bells — and there is a wedding. 
Lucille has awaited the coming of distant relatives, and 
these, with a few of Lord St. Maur’s nearest of kin, 
form the only company. 

Mr. Leslie performs the ceremony, and Lever has he 
so gladly or earnestly read that service, at whose con- 
clusion, little Fan utters a low, solemn “ amen,” as if 
her whole heart cried one glad wish. 

The Duchess of Farnborough was there, elated, 
proud of her nephew ; proud of the representative of 
her House and race, as she repeated softly to herself, 
Servata fides cenerir The promise had been kept. 
Lucille, the same lovely face, the dark, wavy hair 


350 ST. maue; or, an earl’s wooing. 


pushed back, the trustful, gentle eyes, the same true 
woman ; and he, never more a St. Maur than now, the 
brow illuminated with an instinctive nobility of soul, 
the heart’s craving filled, and so they pass on through 
the pleasant paths of life’s years. 

St. Maur, ever growing in renown, rising to still 
more exalted positions, until all men know and praise 
him in the highest. Pleased, happy in these, but 
supremely glorying in the most loved, the fairest of 
women at his side. 


THE END. 


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THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or. The Children of the Isle. 

THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS; or, HICKORY HALL. 

THE TWO SISTERS ; or, Virginia and Magdalene. 

THE FATAL MARRIAGE; or, ORVILLE DEVILLE. 

INDIA; or, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. THE CURSE OF CLIFTOhL 

THE WIDOW’S SON; or, LEFT ALONE. 

THE MYSTERY OF DARK HOLLOW. 

ALLWORTH ABBEY; or, EUDORA. 

THE BRIDAL EVE; or, ROSE ELMER. 

VIVIA; or, THE SECRET OF POWER. 

THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. 

BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. THE DESERTED WIFE. RETRIBUTION 
Mrs. Sonthwortli' s works will be found for sale by all Booksellers. 

Copies of any one, or more of Mrs. SonthwortJCs roorks, trill be sent to any 
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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadclplrln, Pa. 


THE WIFE’S VICTORY 
THE SPECTRE LOVER. 

THE ARTIST’S LOVE. 
THE FATAL SECRET. 

LOVE’S LABOR WON. 
THE LOST HEIRESS. 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ GREAT WORKS. 

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Til© Count of Monte«CristO. With elegant illustrations, and portraits of Edmond Dantes^ 
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£dmoii<l l>aiites. A Sequel to the “Count of Monte-Cristo.” In ono largo octavo volume. 
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Twenty Years After. A Sequel to the “ Three Guardsmen.” In one large ocfiivo volume. 
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Three New American Novels* 


A HEART TWICE WON 

OR, 

SEZCOND LOVE. 

BY MRS. ELIZABETH VAN LOON. 

Author of “ Under the Willows ; or. The Three Countesses, 

“ The Shadow of Hampton Mead,” etc. 

Bound in Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50, 


UNDER THE WILLOWS 

OR, 

THE THREE COUNTESSES. 

BY MRS. ELIZABETH VAN LOON. 

Author of “A Heart Twice Won.” 

Bound in Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50. 


The Shadow of Hampton Head. 

A STORY OF THREE FAMILIES. 

BY MRS. ELIZABETH VAN LOON. 

Author of “A Heart Twice Won.” 

Bound In Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50. 


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Raney Cottem’s Courtship. 

WITH EIGHT FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. 

BY JOSEBJH JONES. 

{OF FINEVILFE, GEORGIA.) 


Raney pulled his chair a little closer, and caught hold of the thread, \\hile she went on knittin,'* 

ONE VOLUME, SQUARE 12mo., PAPER COVER. PRICE 50 CFNl S. 

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a s 

s- ^ 
S' 

* S* 
£ !?* 


» 2 
<s s* 

a 5 


Greville’s New Russian Novel. 


THE RUSSIAN VIOLINIST. 

BY HBlffRY CIRBVII.I.E. 

.AUTHOR OF “dOSIA,” “MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER,” “SAV^lLl’S EXPIATION,” 
“BONNE-MARIE,” “ PHILOMENE’S MARRIAGES,” “SONIA,” “A FRIEND,” 

“ DOURNOF,” “ GABRIELLE,” “ PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA.” 

TEANSLATED IN PAEIS, BY MISS HELEN STANLEY. 

Mar'kof'’ is a musical novel, and an art study, full of beautiful prose and true poetry, and sueh 
ds could be ivritten only by an artist and a genius. The character-drazving is marvellous in breadth 
and analyzation, and gives proof of rare artistic skill, while the most delicious fancies, expressed in 
graceful, poetical and vigorous language, render the author's style incomparably charming. I know 
of no work, nor can I remember any one which has pleased me so much, b-Ah in its ideas and their 
expression, in its plots and development, in its brilliancy and real value, as “Markof." The 
Tlnglish version retains the strong, clear style of the French with commendable fidelity. There are 
a, few letters in the novel which are unique, and their style is admirably preserved in the transla- 
■lion. — Boston Globe. 

One Large Volume, Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.50. 

HENRY GREVILLE’S OTHER NOVELS. 

DOTTHNOF. A Russian Novel. By Henry Greville, author of “ Saveli’s Expia- 
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BONNE-MARIE. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Greville, author of 
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DOSIA. By Henry Greville, author of “ Saveli’s Expiation,’* “ Marrying Off a 
Daughter,’* “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

PHILOMJINE’S marriages. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “Saveli’s 
Expiation,” “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 m cloth. 

PRETTY LITTLE COUNTESS ZINA. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia, 

“ Saveli’s Expiation,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MARRYING OFF A DAUGHTER. By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia,” “ Save- 
li’s Expiation,” “ Sonia,” and “ Gabrielle.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 m cloth. 

SAVELI’S EXPIATION. By Henry Greville, A dramatic and powerful novel of 
Russian life, and a pure, pathetic love story. Price 50 cts. in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

SONIA A Russian Storv. By Henry Grtville, author of “Saveli’s Expiation,** 
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A FRIEND : or, L’AMI. By Henry Grtville, author of “ Saveli’s Expiation,” 
“ Dosia,” and “ Marrying Off a jlaughter.” Price 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

GABRIELLE: or, THE HOUSE OF MAUREZE. By Henry Grtville author cf 
** Dosia,” “ A Friend,” “ Saveli’s Expiation.” Price 50 cts. in paper, or ;..1.00 in cloth, 

Bc=a 

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Major Jones’s Courtship. 

WITH 21 FULL PAGE ILLUSTBATIONS. 

BY MilLjOR JOSEPH JONES. 


{OF PINEVILLE, GEORGIA.) 



“By this time the galls was holt of my coat-tail, holleriu as hard as they could.** 


ONE VOLUME, SQUARE 12mo., PAPER COVER. PRICE 75 CENTS. 

Major Jones's Courtship is for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies oj 
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Emile Zola’s Greatest Work! ' 

OVER 100,000 COPIES SOLD IE FKAECE. 

L’ASSOMMOIR! 

^ I:TOT7-EXj. 


BY B1VCIX.E; ZQXmA. 

AUTHOR OF “ THE ABB^l’S TEMPTATION,” “ HELENE,” ETC. 

TEANSLATED FROM THE FEEHOH BY JOHN STIRLING. 


Read tvhnt Th'. O. D. Cox, the TAterary Editor of The Philadelphia Chroiiicle- 
Ilerald, says of Assotrimoirf* Editoidally , in that Paper, 

“L’ASSOMMOIR,” a Novel, by Emile Zola, translated from the French by John Stir- 
ling, is published this day by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, and is one of 
the most wonderful novels ever printed, and for intensity of realism, has no equal, 
having already attained a sale in France of over One Hundred Thousand Copies. 
“The publication in English of this, the greatest novel of the greatest French realistic 
novelist, is, in all sense.s, an experiment. The ‘Assommoir’ probes to the uttermost 
depths the springs of degradation and depravity among the lower orders of the Parisian 
population, and the picture presented has not a single touch of varnish. There it is in 
all its hideous and sickening reality, even the coarse local slang is reproduced in such 
boldness as to make the reader start, and Zola stops at nothing. He takes his subject 
as he finds it, and reproduces it with the most scrupulous fidelity. Such a novel as 
the ‘Assornmoir,’ and such a novelist as ‘Zola,’ are new to the American public, 
and Mr. Stirling, at the instance of his publishers, has undertaken the herculean task 
of purifying the ‘Assommoir,’ that our readers may get the gist of the great book 
and yet not be shocked. It is but just to say that he has done his work with much 
skill and judgment. Mr. Stirling gives the story, its animus and its vivid local color- 
ing, but he does so in a refined way, and, strange to say, he has not weakened the 
‘Assommoir ’ in the least by so doing. He shows Gervaise, her struggles to be an 
honest woman, her troubles, and her final fall into the slough of sin, ending in a 
pauper’s death. He shows Coupeau, at first a good citizen and an estimable man, then 
passing through all the stages of drunkenness to his end by delirium tremens in the 
hospital. The smooth-tongued Lantier, Nana, who took naturally to sin, and Goujet, 
the manly and virtuous blacksmith, are all there. We would advise all who cannot 
read the ‘Assommoir’ in the original French to read Mr. Stirling’s version of iU 
They will find the book a curiosity, to say the least of it.” 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


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Andre Theuriet’s Greatest W ork. 


ANGELE’S FORTUNE. 

A STORY OF REAL LIFE. 

BY ANDRE THEURIET. 

TRANSLATED EROM THE PRENOH BY MARY NEAL SHERWOOD. 


‘^Ang^:le’s Fortune’^ is looked upon hy all French critics as the 
strongest and most dramatic of Theuriet^s novels. In it the love-mak- 
ing is charming, and done with great delicacy, for Andre Theuriet is 
an artist. He fascinates profoundly, and does not confine himself, as 
is his custom, to pictures of provincial life, hut gives us a glimpse of 
Paris, its theatres and its streets. We watch the heroine from begin- 
ning to end with unabated interest. Her pretty follies amuse and 
interest at first, while at the end they give us the heartache ; while the 
mother, at once weak and energetic, is a character almost new in fiction. 
*Pja Genevraie,” the gay adventurer— heartless and yet not altogether 
selfish — is a French Micawber, while the hero, the poet, and lover of 
luxury, is so well done that we feel that he was drawn from life. The 
story is most admirably told, and as to the translation, it is only neces- 
sary to say that it is one of Mrs. SherwooT s, to ensure its success. 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents, Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


Fortune” in printed on tinted paper, and is issued in square 12/no. 
form, in uniform shape with Assommoir,” a Love Episode,"' or, “Une Page 

d" Amour,” ‘^The Abba's Temptation,” ^'The Markets of Paris,” ^'The Bougon-Macquart 
Family;” or, ^'La Fortune Des Rougon,” ‘'The Conquest of Plassans,” and other works 
of Emile Zola's published by us, and is for sale by all Booksellers, or copies will be sent 
lo any one, to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


By autlior of ^^Ii’Assouuuoir.” 


THE MARKETS OF PARIS. 

(LE VENTRE DE PARIS.) 

BY :is]M[zz«e: zoi^a. 

AUTHOR OF **L*ASSOMMOIR/' “HELENE," OR, “UNE PAGE D’AMOUR," “THE 
ABBE’S TEMPTATION," THE CONQUEST OF PLASSANS," “THE ROU- 
GON-MACQUART FAMILY," OR, “LA FORTUNE DES ROUGON." 


The Markets of Paris” is a remarkable work, and is the one which Zola calls 
his very best novel, and of which he is far more proud than of any others in his Rou- 
gon-Macquart series — prouder than of “ L’Assommoir.” It must have been in his 
early manhood, when poor and friendless, he lived among the people, that much of 
the information which makes these pages so startlingly vivid, was acquired. How 
many mornings, long before dawn, must he have visited these markets — how many 
hours and days must he have spent there, to have mastered the habits, manners and 
ways of these people, who are a class by themselves, and of whom we do not lose sight, 
from the beginning to the end of the book. As Monsieur Zola maintains, that all that 
exists in Nature, is worthy of being reproduced by the true artist — he, in this pro- 
found study of the manner in which a great city is fed, has omitted not one detail, or 
smoothed over one repulsive incident. He takes us from the bloom, and the beauty 
of the flower and fruit markets, to the fish stands, where he points out to us the exqui- 
site workmanship of the scales on the inhabitants of the great deep. He describes the 
vegetables as if they were rare tropical plants ; and then introduces us to the cellars 
under the vast Halles, where the reserved stock of fish is kept, and where poultry is 
fed and fattened for the tables of the wealthy. He introduces us to the Parisian char- 
culier — the cook shop — and in La belle Lisa, the mistress of the establishment, we 
find the sister of Gervaise, the woman who stirred the depths of our hearts with pity, 
in “ L’Assommoir.” Both women are daughters of the shrewd Uncle Macquart, who 
figures in the “Conquest of Plassans,” and in the initial volume of the series. The 
gossiping women are inimitably depicted. The busy old maid, who picks up her 
breakfast and her dinner in return for some choice bit of scandal imparted to the mar- 
ket women, is a finished picture of its kind. In truth “ The Markets of Paris” 
stands as utterly alone in modern French literature, as it is distinct and apart, from 
any other work even by Zola himself. It is a book for all to read. 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


Markets of Parts” is 'printed on tinted paper, and is issued in square 
12/ho. form, in uniform shape with ^^PAssommoir” ^^HUlne; a Love Episode” or, 
**Une Page d^ Amour,” “The Abbe’s Temptation ;” or, “La Faute Pe L’Abbe Mouret,” 
“The Rougon- Macquart Family;” or, “La Fortune Des Pougon,” “The Conquest of Plas- 
sans,” and other works of Fmile Zola’s published by us, and is for sale by all Booksellers, 
or copies will be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Clicstnut Street, Pliiladelphia, Pa, 


niirRTiiE iiAwnr 

^ NOVEL. 

BT ROBBRT B. BALBARD. 

OF NORTH CAROLINA. 


An attractive and well-written American novel is acceptable at all times, particu- 
larly when it comes from a pen, which, whether practised or not, has undoubtedly 
been used by the hand of a man of genius — one of the class who, as Dr. Johnson tersely 
said, once upon a time, sat down not to think what he should write, but to write what 
he deeply thought. “ Myrtle Lawn,” by Robert E. Ballard, is an American romance 
of real life — a story almost of the present, so near to our time do the incidents occur. It 
is dedicated to Gid. Branch Alston, Esq., of North Carolina, to which State the author 
belongs. The narrative may be said to open in Mexico, with the history of a patriotic 
family there, to which Nora Lavine, one of the heroines of the tale, belongs by descent. 
The home-scenes of this romance, which are admirably presented, take place in a 
beautiful village in Maryland, in which three families reside, respectively named 
^Melton, Evarts, and Lavine. The heads of these families are respectively two merchant 
princes, and Mrs. Lavine, the widow of a Colonel in the Confederate army. There 
are two sons, Henry Melton and Horace Evarts, who form deep attachments to Jeannette 
Evarts and Nora Lavine. But, as “ the course of true love never yet ran smooth,” the 
elder Mr. Melton, who has very ambitious views for his son, forbids him to associate 
any longer with Miss Evarts, whom he has known since childhood, and the younger 
Mr. Evarts, having become jealous of Nora Lavine, leaves his native land in despair, 
and joins the Spanish army, then engaged in civil war, and greatly distinguishes him- 
self in actual conflict. It was a villain of the darkest dye who had managed with 
great ingenuity to make appearances seem heavy against the young lady. Overtaken, 
at last, in his villainy, and the victim of remorse on his death-bed, this man makes a 
full confession which, clearing her, restores her lover, and the late repentance of Mr. 
Melton permits his son to wed the lady of his love, thereby giving a charming daugh- 
ter to himself. The death-bed repentance and confession of MacKenzie, the villain of 
the story, is a very truthful and terrible piece of writing, powerful in its tragic force. 
But the- crowning merit of “ Myrtle Lawn ” will be found, or criticism greatly errs, 
in the description of a battle-scene in Spain, during the Carlist war. It is a panoramic 
painting in words, such as Macaulay might have dashed off in a happy hour of literary 
excitement. There is nothing of the sort so fine in modern fiction. The dialogues and 
correspondence in this tale are admirable, and the author’s stream of narrative is at 
once clear, strong, and rapid. — C ritic. 


Bound in Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. Price $1.50. 


1!^* ^^3Tyrtle Lawn ” is printed on tinted paper ^ and is issued in a large duodecimo 
volume, and is for sale by all Booksellers, price $1.50 a copy, or copies will be sent to 
any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting $1.50 in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

30G Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 


A. Ifew Ifovel of Gh^eat Power* 


The Em 
T HE Earl 



OF Mayfield. 


The Earl op Mayfield is a new novel, written by a noted American author, 
most of the scenes of which are in America, while some of the characters are those 
of persons who were conspicuous in our civil war, just published by T. B. Peterson & 
Brothers, Philadelphia. It deals largely with real life and historical personages, 
which are treated with a master’s pen, while the scenes are varied, and full of interest 
and instruction. The opening scenes are in the South, some of them being laid on a 
sugar plantation, and much food for pleasant meditation will be found in the study of 
the several characters portrayed, and one will watch with interest the course of the 
hero, Thomas Carew, who is a rich Louisiana planter at the beginning of the story, is 
loyal to the Union, and after many trials and sacrifices, w hich must not be alluded to 
here lest the reader’s interest may be weakened, becomes the recognized heir to a title 
and great estate in England. There is an air of realism about the whole narrative, 
and the chapters describing certain events in Washington during the war, and scenes 
with President Lincoln and members of his Cabinet, are especially notable in this 
respect. Evidently the writer is a Southerner, who has, however, a lofty estimate of 
the great character of Abraham Lincoln, though he rates some of his advisers much 
lower. It would be impossible to enumerate the many virtues of the lovely and per- 
fectly pure heroine, Mary Stuart, or the pleasing qualities of Boiseau, Whitofield, 
Brandon, Randolph and other characters in the work, but in praising worth, we must 
not fail to mention the faithful Mignon, whose equal for love and interest in her lair 
mistress is rarely found. The incidents and scenes laid in Italy cannot fail to please 
the most fastidious, and will be found to have the rare merit of making the reader wish 
there were more of them. It has the advantage of having but few characters, with 
good descriptions, excellent dialogues, and well sustained interest. The style is easy, 
and the incidents of a romantic character, together with the descriptions of scenery 
and social life in Louisiana, Italy, and in England, eonibine with the historical events 
embodied in the story to make “ The Earl of Mayfield ” a book that will be read v. ith 
delight and advantage by thousands of Americans. It is printed in large, clear type, 
and the paper and binding are unexceptionable.— Bulletin, 


Complete in One Volume, Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. Price $1.50. 


The Earl of Mayfield will he found for sale hy all Boohsellers and News Agents^ 
and on all Bail Boad Trains, or copies of it will be sent to any one, to any place, at once, 
per mail, post-paid, on remitting $1.50 in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

300 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 



Emile Zola’s New Books. 


The Greatest Novels Ever Printed. 


L’ASSOMMOIR. By Emile Zola, author of “ The Conquest of 
Plassans,” “The Markets of Paris,” “ The Rougon-Macquart 
Family,” “Helene,” “The Abbe’s Temptation,” etc., etc. 
“ L’Assommoir ” is^he most Popular Novel ever published. 
It has already attained a sale in Paris of over One Hundred 
Thousand Copies. Complete in one large square duodecimo 
volume, price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in 
Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE CONQUEST OP PLASSANS; or, LA CONQUETE 
DE PLASSANS. A Tale of Provincial Life. By Emile 
Zola. One large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in 
paper cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE MARKETS OP PARIS; or, LE VENTRE DE 
PARIS. By Emile Zola, author of “ LAssommoir.” One 
large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper 
cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE ROUGON-MACQUART PAMILY; or, LA POR- 
TUNE DES ROUGON. By Emile Zola, author of 
“ L’Assommoir.” One large volume, price 75 cents in paper 
cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

HELENE; A LOVE EPISODE; or, UNE PAGE 
D’ AMOUR. By Emile Zola, author of “L’Assommoir.” 
One large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents in paper 
cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

THE ABBE’S TEMPTATION; or, LA PAUTE DE 
L’ABBE MOURET. By Emile Zola, author of “ L’Assom- 
moir.” One large square duodecimo volume, price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or $1.25 in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies of any 

one, or all of them, will be sent to any one, to any place, at once, per return of mail, post- 
paid, on remitting the price of the ones vjanted, to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa* 


“ It will save many dollars.” — Lynn {Mass.) Reporter. 

CHEAPEST AND BESTI-^^ 

PETERSON’SllAGAZmE ! 


A StTppLEME\T will he given in every number for l^SO, containing a full-size pattern for a 
lady's, or child's dress. Every subscriber will receive, during the year, twelve of these patterns, worth 
more, alone, than the subscription price.^^i^ 


“Peteuson’s Magazine” contains, every year, 1000 pa^es, 14 steel plates, 12 colored Berlin 
patterns, 12 mainniotli colored fashion plates, 24 pages of music, and about 000 wood cut* Its priuci- 
piil embellislimeiits are 

Its immense circulation enables its proprietor to spend more on embellishments, stories, &c., 
than any other. It gives more for the money, and combines more merits, than any in the world, la 
1«80, a New Feature will be introduced in the shape of a series of 

SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED ARTICLES. 


ITS TALES AND NOVELETS 

Are the best pnl'lish''d anvwbere. Jll the most popular writers are employed to write originitlTp for 
“ Eeterson." In 188n. FIVE OKIGINA L COl*Y RIGHT NOVELETS will be given, by Ani«g. St(^ihens, 
Frank Leo Benedict, Frances Hodgson Burnett, &c., &c., and stories by Jane G. Austin, by thetiuthor 
of “ Josiah Allen’s Wife,” by Itebecca Harding Davis, and all the beat female writers. 



Ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, twice the usual size, and are un^quallod 
for beiiiity. They will be superbly colored. Also, Household and other receipts; articles on Bax- 
Work Flowers,” “ Management of lufants in short everything Interesting to ladies. 


TERMS (Always in Advance) $2.00 A YEAR. 

PARALLELED OFFERS TO CLUBS.-=^ 


3 Copies for S3. 50 

3 “ “ 4.50 

4 Cojiies for ®G.50 
0 “ “ 0.00 

6 Copies for $8.00 

7 “ 10.50 


With a copy of the iiremium ]iictnro (24 x 20) a costly steel engraving, 
“B'ashington at Valley Fokge,” to the person getting up the club. 

With an extra cojiy of the Magazine for 1830, as a premium, to the 
pereon getting up the club. 

With both an extra copy of the Magazine for 1880, and the premium 
picture, to the pei-son getting up the club. 


. FOB FAEQEB GLUB8 BFIEIL QBEATEB mDVGEMENjTB! 


Address, post-paid, 

CHARLES J. PETERSON, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa* 
JKtf'Specimcus scut gratis, if written for, to get up clubs with. 



Earl’s Wooing. 


AN EARL’S WOOING. 


^^St. Maur; an Earl’s Wooing,” is a very peculiar 
toorh of fiction, with the scene in England, though some Amer- 
ican characters, drawn without exaggeration, figure in it. It 
is decidedly sensational, with a well-constructed story, icliich 
might he regarded as too highly wrought, were it not that every 
mystery is set even at the close. The various action takes ylace 
in high, middle, and what may he called low life — though it 
does not go so far into the depths of the latter as ‘‘ Oliver 
Twist!' One of the hest characters, of whom too much is not 
made, is a clever Detective. Most of the scenes are worked 
out with great effect; and. the destruction of a great country 
mansion, hy fire, in England, in which the heroine and hero 
are saved hy the devoted self-sacrifice of Trevellyan, the Earl's 
tried and true friend^ is most powerfully written, and the death 
scene of the latter is a wonderful hit of tender pathos. There 
is an exquisite poem in it, the story is nicely told, the author 
is well acquainted with London society, and this romance of 
the present time will he found highly original . — Critic. 

Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


1 ^* “8L Hraur ; an Earl's Wooing” is printed on tinted paper, and is issued in 
square \2mo. form, in uniform shape with Assommoir,” ^^Heltne; a Love Episode,” 
or, ^^Une Page d' Amour,” ^‘The Abbe's Temptation,” *^The Markers of Paris,” ^^The 
Rougon-Macquart Family;” or, “La Fortune Des Rougon,” “The Conquest of Plassans,” 
and other works of Emile Zola's published by us, and is for sale by all Booksellers, or 
copies will be sent to any one, at once, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

300 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa# 




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PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. INC. 
1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranbeny Twp., PA 16066 
.V (412)779-2111 




